


dream a little dream

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, AU Destiel - Freeform, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, High School AU, M/M, Sex, Teen!Cas, Teen!Dean, human!Cas, secret, sleepover, teen!destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:50:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5484053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak have been inseparable since God knows when. They have their little traditions, like Friday-night sleepovers. And maybe not a lot of teenage boys spend their evenings folded over another teenage boy, but that's just Dean and Cas. They've known each other so long, they're practically one. They think nothing of holding hands and cuddling and sleeping pressed up together in the same bed. It's not like it means anything.</p><p> In which Cas and Dean are 17 year olds living in Kansas, conflicted by emotions are driven largely by trying to do what's best for each other, even if that means sacrificing what they really want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This is brilliant' Dean grumbled, his sarcasm apparent. Beside him, as ever, was Castiel Novak. They trekked side by side the walk home from school to the Winchester house, rain pouring down on them incessantly, one boy irately kicking at the dust, one boy brightly skipping along. 

'Its not so bad, Dean. When we get in, we can have cocoa' Castiel said with the plain intonations of a child, undeterred by the foul weather.

Dean scowled, but Castiel looked so earnest, smiling softly with dark hair plastered wet to his forehead, that he couldn't help but smile back, even just to please Cas. 

'What d'ya wanna watch tonight, then, Cas?' Dean asked, appeasing his friend's brightness. 

'Uh...I don't mind. Something scary?'

Dean snorted. 'Cas, man, you hate scary stuff. Y'always have, and you always will'

Cas shrugged. 'You like scary movies. And besides, you're much nicer to me if I'm scared'

Dean laughed. 'I'm always nice to you' he replied, but thought Castiel probably more appreciated Dean cuddling him when the monsters came on screen rather than anything else. 'Jeez, this goddamn rain!'

Castiel rolled his eyes grandly. Without any inhibition, he took Dean's hand, both palms slick from rainwater. Dean, who had been holding the smaller, sweeter, younger boy's hand for ten years, thought nothing of it for a while. 

Then all of a sudden, it dawned on him that he was holding hands with another boy whilst walking down the main road back from school. 'Dude! Someone could see us.'

Cas shrugs, dropping Dean's hand as though it was no big deal. 'I am sorry, Dean'

Dean tutted. 'Don't be. You know it's fine with us, Cas, but those guys are dicks. You know, they see two dudes being remotely civil and assume they're fucking'

'But we aren't' Cas replies, unwrapping a luridly yellow sweet from his pocket and putting it in his mouth. He then repeats the action and pushes the second sweet into Dean's parted lips. 

It was somewhat of a running joke within the circle of severely egotistical and homophobic football playing maniacs, that Cas and Dean were together. Of course, they weren't, but their calmness and coolness, their ease with each other sparked interest. They were unafraid to be close and to be kind with each other in a way most 17 year old boys weren't, and thus were the subject of much unsupported speculation. Dean sometimes wondered with a grin what they'd say if they saw Dean and Cas every Friday night for the last ten years, cuddled up in Dean's bed, nestled together. During their equally embarrassing phases of incessant wet dreams they had tried to sleep separate in the big bed, but no matter what they always ended up entangled in each other, and that was fine once they got past their sticky boxers when they woke. 

'Where is Sam?!' Cas cried, as though Dean would ever have left his brother behind. 

'Relax, Cas. He's with a friend, because my mum and dad are going out tonight'

'Ah. Free house?'

Dean smirked. 'We totally have the living room to ourselves.'

'Dance contest!'

'Twister!

'uh...we could bake cookies!'

Dean snorted again. 'C'mon, Castiel. Shift, you'll get a cold'

Cas couldn't help but admire how Dean was concerned for solely his health, not collectively. Honourable as ever. 

They speed up but Cas flat out refuses when Dean tries to jog the last half mile home. Dean fumbles with the lock on the door, and they collapse at the open doorframe, a puddle forming where both of their clothes are soaked through. It feels like the time Cas fell into the lake in the woods behind the house, and then when Dean offered a hand, he pulled him in. Dean feels just as saturated, wet trousers chafing and weighty, but minus the enjoyment of several hours splashing around. 

'Ok. What first?'

'Shower' says Dean without even thinking. 'I feel gross.'

'No' Cas whined. 'Absolutely not' 

'Ok, ok. Hot chocolate?' He suggested, sweeping down the hallway into the kitchen before Castiel could protest that it was called 'cocoa'. 

Dean tapped the marble surface and Castiel obeyed, hopping up to sit on the island in the centre of the kitchen whilst Dean crashed about with glass milk bottles and china mugs and metal pans. 

He sat swinging his legs whilst Dean sifted chocolate powder into the bubbling milk. He twisted his head back to see Cas looking delightfully sweet and innocent, and pinched his cheeks. Cas glowered back, looking unthreatening, but didn't swat Dean's hand away where it rested on his cheek. 

'Dean, please watch the milk' He said, affectionate but exasperated as the pan frothed. 

Dean complied and tipped the hot chocolate into the twin mugs, stirring rapidly so Cas winced as the spoon clinked the sides of the mug raucously. 

'Don't forget-'

'I'm on it, shut up' Dean waved a hand to silence him, retrieving the requested whipped cream and marshmallows and giving them both generous amounts. Dean gave himself six marshmallows and Cas seven, just like he always did with Sam. 

'Bring 'em through, wouldya?' He stated rather than asked, gesturing to Cas to bring the two hot mugs into the living room. 

Cas set them down and looked up to see Dean with his soggy shirt over his head, arms stretched over his wet chest. Something in Castiel's throat constricted. Something about the way Dean's lean muscles came together was pleasing to Castiel. 

'C'mon, you too' Dean called, dropping his balled shirt and jacket into a damp pool on the floor and crossing into the living room. 

'Me, too, what...'

'Shirt. You'll get sick, Cas, c'mon' 

Cas obediently wriggled out of his jumper, feeling horribly inferior to Dean's rather more sculpted body. 

Dean unfolded the blanket neatly left by Mary over the back of the sofa, and sloppily threw it over both their shoulders. They both eagerly drank their hot drinks, knees knocking together and barely pausing in savouring the heat to speak to each other. 

'Kinda nice, huh?' 

'Wha es?' Cas mumbles, mouth full of whipped cream and it stained over his chin. Dean's hand itches to wipe it over and he allows himself, swiping his hand over Cas' firm set face. Cas grabs Dean by the wrist and licks the cream off his fingers, as if its the most innocent thing in the world. Dean shudders. 

'Uh, it's nice, the quiet. Got the whole house to ourselves, huh?'

Cas nods, swirling a finger in his mug to retrieve the remnants. 'Nice'

'Wanna do anything special? Since no one's here to supervise?'

'Like what?' Says Cas in response. 

Dean squirms. 'I dunno. Anything.'

'Can we just do like normal? Or, just skip to the movie. I'm tired'

'Sure, kid. I'm just going to go take a shower ok. Want one?'

'I'll wait till you're done, thanks' Cas murmurs, looking down. 

Dean pauses and blushes, but then Cas cracks a grin and Dean realises its a joke. Cas. Joking. 

'Alright, haha, very funny, you' Dean rolls his eyes, kissing Cas on the forehead. Castiel noticed long ago how his friend had very specific ways of comforting people, of greeting people, of saying goodbye. He hugs Mary, punches John on the arm, ruffles Sam's hair. Cas doesn't think he's ever seen Dean kiss anyone (aside from snogging girls, of course), besides Cas. He slopes off upstairs to the shower. 

When he returns, Cas is in the den. Dean looks uncharacteristically young, hair gold and everywhere. He's fully dressed now, and brought a jumper for Cas, to. There hasn't been a proper sofa in the den for years, just a sloppy fort of cushions and pillows and blankets and half an old mattress. 

Dean smiled in greeting, rubbing his wet hair with the heel of his hand. He grabbed the remote and clicked through channels on the spare TV, dumped on the floor. 

'This ok, kid, or do you wanna watch something else?'

'Nah, this is fine' Cas said, eyeing the title cards of some gloomy eerie horror flick. He bounced onto the fort next to Dean, amidst a swirl of blankets. 

'It might be scary' Dean warns, knowing Cas' reply anyway. 

'Its fine. You can look after me, Dean' Cas says. Dean doesn't have to look to know he's wearing an adorably righteous grin. 

'Of course, kid'

It's not the monsters that scares Cas. Just the atmosphere. The music, the tension, the dark palettes. He barely blinks at any dead children or horrific monsters or bloody deaths and the like, but it's the jumps and the violins and the waiting that has him hiding. 

Sure enough, this one is pretty freaky. A ghost one. Those are the worst; slashers he can handle, ghosts are terrifying. 

'Dean!' he whines, diving under the older boy's arm. 

Dean chuckles, pulling Cas closer so he can lie in his lap. 'S'alright' he says absently. Sometimes it pisses Castiel off when Dean goes all big-brother on him, but sometimes it's nice. Like now. He relishes the moment, him and his best friend, warm and curled up together like always. Maybe some 17 year old boys-most, even-would freak out at this, but it was nice the two boys were so close, and had been for so long, that they thought nothing of it. Castiel is soothed by Dean all around him, nothing else there but Dean's presence. He can feel sweatpants and thigh under his cheek, damp shirt at his neck, chest behind his back, one hand in his hair, one hand tracing circles in the small of Castiel's back. 

Cas jumps at a creepy scene, but Dean's strong hands are there, and he is calm. 

'Good thing you're sleeping with me tonight, huh?'

Cas murmurs in agreement. His mouth brushes luxuriously against Dean's leg. Not that he notices. 

The movie calms for a while, until a scene maybe twenty minutes later that has Cas jumping up, clawing at Dean. He finds himself half sat on Dean's lap, legs wound around his waist. 

'Cas!' 

'Mmmghgdfffff!' Cas replies, burying his head in Dean's hot neck. 

'It isn't even that bad' Dean says but softly, not a criticism. He doesn't push Cas off like Cas expects, but winds his fingers in Cas' hair, absently knotting and de-knotting. 

'Sorry' Cas says, but giggles. 

'Yeah, yeah, funny'

'Kind of'

'Eh' 

Dean is fairly transfixed by the movie, and Cas focuses on not actually screaming. There's this little girl in the movie, all black and grey, crying and wailing and haunting people. Dean may've been joking, but Castiel will be glad for his company later. 

'I'll go get popcorn' Dean exclaims, suddenly realising he'd forgotten this oh-so important component. Seeing Cas' face at being left alone with the movie, he rolls his eyes. 

'Ok, you go'

Cas glances at the dark hallway. 

'Jeez, Cas! We'll both go'

Castiel feels stupid-it's just a movie, after all. But he knows Dean doesn't really mind. Dean doesn't mind, either, them grasping hands in the dark to find the kitchen and the light switch. Cas sits on the counter again as Dean pushes buttons on the microwave and they await their snack. 

'Sorry for being a baby, Dean'

Dean snorts. 'Its whatever, Cas. Not everyone can be brave and strong like me'

Cas reaches out and shoves him in the chest, and Dean shoves him back in retaliation. Cas jumps off the counter and hits his friend playfully, earning one back. 

'Dean!' Cas cries as he is tackled to the floor. The two boys squirm on the kitchen tiles, wrestling furiously. Dean laughs too loud in Cas' ear as the smaller boy tries to fend him off, kicking at him. Dean is pinning him down, knees either side of Cas' hips, hands on his shoulders and hot breath on his face. 

'Say I win' he growls. 

'No way!' Cas cries back, trying to shove Dean away. 

Dean moves his face closer. Too close.   
'Say it, Castiel'

'No' he breathes back, the two sentences meeting in the small space of hot breath between their mouths. 

Dean squints, studying him for a moment. Cas worries there is something on his face. Maybe he's getting a spot? Dean is contemplating the situation, the proximity, the ease, when the microwave screeches. 

'Yeah, yeah' Dean grumbles at the machine, rolling off Cas, leaving him crumpled on the floor. 'I still won, though'

'Whatever' Cas bickers good-naturedely, making Dean jump when he hugs his shoulders from behind. 

'Cas, quit it' he laughs. Voice too deep. He doesn't mean it. 

They settle for the last half-hour of the movie, idly throwing hot kernels at each other. Cas scrabbles to retrieve them from beneath his shirt, but Dean leaves them, barely bothering to brush the crumbs away. 

'Aw, man' Cas groans at the scarily vague ending of the movie, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth to soothe him. 

'It wasn't that bad' Dean scoffed. He'd never admit it-it wasn't like he was ever scared, of anything, ever-but sometimes it was nice if he got up in the middle of the night after a particularly scary movie, to find Cas warm and smiling and there. Although Dean was always the protector, always the comforter, always the grown-up, it was soothing to be near Castiel. Not that he'd ever admit it. 

'Can we go to bed, Dean?' Cas asks, rubbing at his eyes. 

'Cas, man, we haven't even had dinner yet'

'Oh. Yeah. After dinner, then' Cas agrees. 

'Don't forget our bath' Dean grins, eyes glimmering in the half-light of the room, flooded by the TV's fluorescence but shadowy otherwise. 

This was a bit of a running joke between them. Since they'd begun this tradition at age seven, it hadn't been weird back then for them to bathe together. It had even been another factor of the football-idiots favourite running joke, dean-and-Cas-are-gay, since Castiel had once brought it up when they were twelve or so, not thinking anything of it. They didn't bathe together any more, of course, but still joked about it occasionally. For old time's sake. 

The pizza was ordered, although it wasn't nearly hot enough when it came. Being teenagers, both boys tore through a pizza each and still had room for more. 

'Dean' Cas said, not needing to elaborate. 

'Yeah, yeah. Go get into your pyjamas, then. I'll be right up'

Cas trudged up the stairs, ignoring any creaks and groans of the house, flipping on every light switch he passed. It was fairly early, but Dean had been training all week and Cas was just plain exhausted, and so neither boy complained about an early night. They could've been a little wilder with the house to themselves, but this was enough. Cas stripped off his clothes into a puddle on the floor, leaving only his pale blue boxers. He squatted to search Dean's drawers for a spare t-shirt, and retrieved a very worn ACDC top, the motif almost faded off. He pulled it on and it smelt of warm, of clean, of Dean. Of home. Dean found him sat cross legged atop the duvet, wearing his shirt, and smiled softly. 

'Alright, Cas'

'Yes' he said, although no reply was necessary. Dean undressed slow and laborious, and Cas watched attentively. Unbuckle his jeans. Slide them off. Then socks, thrown on the floor, not balled together like Cas would do. Shirt over his head, then strewn over the chair. He found a t-shirt too, so the two boys were matching, messy hair and boxers and t-shirts. The bed sunk with Dean's weight beside his friend. 

Dean yawned, despite not really being tired. Looking at Cas' sleepy little face made him sleepy, too. 

'Night, buddy' he said, as Cas wriggled under the covers. Dean stretched as far as he could to click the lamp off at the wall, only to find Cas in his haste had turned the main light on, as well. 

'It was dark' Cas reasoned, as Dean irritably climbed from the bed and turned off the main switch, too. 

As soon as he got under the duvet, Cas scooted over, their legs strewn over each other and Cas' forehead hot against Dean's jaw. 

Just like always, thought Cas. Us. The same bed, the same boy, the same routine, just like always. He was just thinking this when Dean shifted his head and kissed Cas right on the mouth, with hot lips that burnt his skin, a hot hand on his neck. 

'Night, Cas' said Dean, and then rolled over and went to sleep.


	2. 2

Dean Winchester woke as he usually did on Saturday mornings, entangled with Castiel. Cas is sprawled across him, one leg crooked over his hip bone and the other between his calves, head on his chest so Dean can feel each breath billow across the material of his shirt. Reluctant to wake his sleeping friend, he lay there, quiet and still, afraid to breathe too hard in case he stirred Cas. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes later Cas wriggled about and woke, grunting a 'good morning'. Just like usual, only Cas' heart was beating far too fast, and he was afraid Dean would hear it. 

Each thrum seemed to yell, whydidhekissme, whydidhekissme, whydidhekissme, and Cas had no answer. What now? Would Dean yell at him? Cry? Confess something? Cas wasn't even sure which one of those options would be best. 

Instead, Dean wriggled over so they both sat up in the bed. He smiled at Cas. He didn't say anything out of the ordinary. 

'Shall we go see about pancakes?' He suggested. 

Cas nodded, turning his head away to climb out of bed, because Dean just looking at him was making him flushed and hot. Why wasn't Dean saying anything?

Dean himself rose, whirling around the room to find sweatpants, blitzing the already apparent mess further. Cas wriggled back into his jeans, stiff from the rain still. 'Hurry up, Novak' he said cheerfully-uncharacteristically cheerfully for ten am-before running downstairs, each step thundering. Castiel followed, his footsteps a breeze in comparison. 

'Boys!'

Castiel's favourite morning greeting, second only to Dean's good mornings. Mary Winchester would protect Cas like she would her own sons, and her soft smile made him grin right back. She was soft around the edges in the mornings, blonde haired and white-nightgowned. 

'Hi, Mary' he said, allowing her to kiss his cheek and Dean's. 'have a nice evening?'

'Oh, yes. We got back kind of late. You boys have fun?'

Dean nodded. Cas went red. 

'Watched a scary movie' said Dean flippantly, accidentally pouring three glasses of orange juice and then pouring Sam's down the sink. 

'Dean, don't waste. And you are horrible, making Castiel watch those awful films' she tutted, but fondly. 'Go and get some plates, then, boys'

Cas always felt so unconditionally happy here, sat at the table like one of the Winchesters, eating his own body weight in pancakes before even waking up. Dean laid plates and cutlery on the table, and Cas collected syrups and sprinkles and condiments and such. Jam for Sam (gross but fun to say), Nutella and cream for Cas, lemon and sugar for Dean. 

Dean preferred when Mary made huge stacks of fluffy American style chocolate chip pancakes, but Cas wa a sucker for crêpes, thin and sweet, always a new one laid out by the time he'd finished the first. 

Mary flipped the pan with ease and gave Cas the first pancake, then to Dean. John wasn't awake yet; no one asked why and apparently no one especially cared. Dean tilted the paper sugar bag over to create a mound of sugar in the centre of his pancake, whereas Castiel delicately swirled Nutella onto his. 

'Painting a picture, Cas?' Dean grinned. 

Cas shrugged, avoiding Dean's eye because he was thinking only about the fact that Dean actually kissed him last now. And now apparently that didn't happen. Cas wasn't an angry kid, much less at a Winchester, but he could feel the unfamiliar sensation of his blood boiling. It wasn't like he cared. It wasn't like he wanted Dean to kiss him again. It was just so stupid of him to do something like that and not explain it away, not even acknowledge it. 

If you'd've asked Cas the day before, he would've said that he and Dean had no secrets. They knew each other's first kisses. Dean knew Cas had gotten no further than a horrible 3rd base after which he cried and refused to speak to the girl again. Cas knew about the time Dean had been about to 'do it' for the first time and had totally freaked out and said he had to leave. Dean knew why Cas savoured walking home and being at school, why Cas never talked about his evenings at home, why Cas spent every Christmas and Thanksgiving and summer holiday at the Winchester household. Cas knew why Dean sometimes came to school bruised, fragile colours on a fierce face. They had no secrets. Except maybe this. 

'More, honey?' Mary asked, brandishing the perfectly flipped pancake. 

Cas nodded eagerly. Dean smiled softly at his childlike enthusiasm, for almost everything, or so it would seem. He knew Cas wouldn't care. He knew, he knew, he knew. Hell, Cas had probably already forgotten. A small part of him wished that Cas had grabbed him last night and kissed him back. A small part of him wished Cas would lean across the table and share an icing-sugar kiss, even with Mary in the next room. A very small part of him wished Cas would ask him why he did it. But it was only a small part. Most of him, he told himself, didn't care. It was just a stupid thing, and it wasn't like it was some passionate affair, it was just a tiny kiss. Not even tongues. Some part of him screamed that even that, even that minuscule moment of brief contact, was far more sexual than anything else Dean had ever felt. He thought about the first time he'd had sex, and how it really hasn't lived up to its standards. How the girl-Ciara-had felt odd underneath him, compared to how he was used to lying over Cas. Her shoulders were too small and her legs didn't wrap around his and her hair was everywhere, choking him, drowning in a sea of apple shampoo. He glanced up at Cas, who's hair was sticking up in twelve different directions, messy and mussed up. Just a very, very small part of him. 

'Dean, honey, someone needs to go pick up Sam.' Mary said, sitting next to her sun to eat her pancake. Under the table, Cas idly, gently, kicked at Dean's shin with his socked feet. 

'Yeah, we'll go get him. Who's house is he at?'

'David. Do you know where he lives, or shall I call Sam?'

'No, pretty sure I've got it covered. Can we take the car?'

'Of course, honey' Mary beamed, as Dean folded a napkin in half to wipe sticky off the side of Castiel's mouth. 

'I'll go get dressed' Dean nods curtly, thanking his mother for breakfast and downing the rest of his orange juice. 

'You can drop me off on the way' says Cas. 

'Oh, Castiel, sweetheart, you can stay for lunch if you like' says Mary. Sweet. Sympathetic. Sorry. 

'No. That's okay, don't worry' he looks up at Dean wistfully. Ask me to stay. 

'Sure, it's on the way. Get dressed when you're finished eating' says Dean, and retreats up the stairs. John does not appear at all; perhaps he drank too much whiskey last night, as is the Winchester custom. Cas chewed at his lip, sat at the table until Mary clattered the plates together and ruffled his hair. Like a mum might. 

'Thank you' he said, sincere as ever, and followed upstairs to dress properly, digging his spare clothes out from where they lay crumpled amidst his school books. 

'Ready, kid?' Dean smiles at him. Ask me to stay. 

He doesn't. 

The roads out there in Kansas are nothing like Castiel has ever known. Endless, dusty, dark and suggestive. Castiel could walk them forever, loves knowing that each dirty footprint will be swept away as he steps it. Dean grins as they leave the house and he twirls the keys to his Dad's car in his hands. Even Castiel, generally uninterested by motors and the like, has always been in awe of the sleek black vehicle. It's so fitting to see Dean at the wheel, both so elegant and mysterious and older than anything else. Dean relishes ejecting the tape that's in the box and pushing his own in, howling along to Led Zeppelin whilst Castiel quietly sits in the passenger seat, shoes on the floor and feet tucked up beneath him. 

'Hang on, Cas, I'll get him' says Dean, pulling up not ten minutes later outside a house, neat white and yellow, decadent with vines. Castiel wonders why Sam didn't just walk home, but between Mary and Dean, Sam is the most protected kid you've ever met. Plus, Dean's speeding puts the distance out of perspective a little. 

'Hi' Sam waves at Castiel as his brother bundles him into the backseat. Cas is grateful Sam seems to be taking puberty a little less dramatically than Dean, who became this surly reckless whirlwind for months at a time. Not to mention all the boners they'd wake up to, although they had both been guilty on that front. 

'Have a good time?' Dean asks, eyes on the mirror so he can calculate Sam's response. If he says no, Castiel thinks, will Dean turn the car back and yell at that kid? Probably. 

It only takes ten minutes or so to reach the house. This is home, though, Castiel thinks, with the music up too loud and Dean warbling along with his hand on Cas' shoulder, Sam chattering away in the back, this is home, home, home. Castiel wishes with all his heart, renounces every star, dandelion or birthday candle he has ever whispered over, and wishes that Dean will keep driving on and on and on until the sky bruises and dims and sinks and it will just be the three of them. 

Instead, Dean pulls up. The sign outside is ominous as ever: Oakborough Children's Home. Someone has spray painted beneath this plaque, 'for the kids no-one wants'. Castiel admires both the accuracy and the fact someone manages to squish all that onto the wall. He winces at the sound of screaming kids; there might as well be a black cloud over the place. 

Ask me to stay, Castiel begs, with every fibre of his being. 

Instead, Dean says, 'See ya around, kid' and drives away. 

Cas has left his shoes under the car seat, but Dean does not drive back. Maybe he didn't notice.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to those asking whether this would be continued or not, I will either clarify or make it apparent when it is over. yeah, there will be smut.

Monday morning saw the sky stretched taut and grey, and Castiel felt the same. He walked two miles to Dean's house and waited outside for Sam and Dean as he always did so they could walk the remainder of the way together. Sam punched him on the arm instead of hugging him, which was a new development. Dean felt as relieved as he always did to see Castiel, like a weight had lifted off him. He permitted Cas to hug him awkwardly, awkward because that was how Cas was, not for any other reason. On they walked, and as the dirt road dissolved into busier town streets, they absorbed into groups of fervently chattering children, all headed the same way. They were usually undisturbed by idiot boys who pestered Castiel and secretly marvelled Dean, as most of them drove in their flash cars. Dean wasn't allowed to drive the Impala whenever he wanted, he had to work for it. Most of the time, he only got to drive it when John was m.i.a, but to Castiel, it had always felt like Dean's car, even when they had been seven-year-olds clambering over the seats and pretending to drive the wheel. Both were smooth sleek angles, dark joints, secrets. 

As they neared the flood of the school gates, Sam spied a friend and went running after them, his gait horribly awkward. 

As they ambled on, Dean's voice dropped quiet. 'Cas, are you...mad at me?'

Castiel frowned, genuinely confused. 

'Why would I be mad at you, Dean?'

Dean shifted awkwardly, rolling his left shoulder back. 'Because...cause, y'know...'

'Oh' something like realisation dawned on Cas' face. 'For kissing me?'

Dean hissed at that, trying to shush him in the midst of rowdy teenagers as they crossed the plains of the high school. 

'Uh, yeah, Cas.'

So he hadn't forgotten. 

'Dean. I fully understand the implications of the gesture. It was only a small thing and I am aware that you love me, and sometimes people do that to show love'

Dean gaped at him. He was getting hot under the collar with nerves, but also Cas saying love, deep, confident, assured-God, it was kind of nice. 

'Anyway, I realise it was fully platonic. You and I share a profound bond unlike most teenage boys. Besides, you were very sleepy. I thought you might have forgotten'

Dean nods gravely, looking away, as though the conversation disinterests him. Castiel glances at him, doing his usual invasive staring. A part of Dean shrieks to grab him by the stupid shirt and kiss him right there in front of everyone. 

Only a very small part, though. 

'So, it's cool?' Dean nods, in an instant dismissing it to nothing with his cool disposition and oh-so-charming squint away. 

'Of course, Dean' Castiel nods, too slowly. 

God DAMN it. If only Cas would bother to betray some tiny scrap of emotion, a waiver in the voice, a quirk at the mouth, a clouding in the eyes. 

Only, he doesn't. 

So Dean punches Castiel on the arm like he would anyone else and jaunts on. 

Castiel pauses, scurrying to catch up with Dean. 

'What was that for?' 

Dean snorts. 

'Shut up, Cas' he says, in the same way he might say, 'goodnight, Sammy' or 'love you, Mom'. 

'Ah, if it isn't Winchester and his little boyfriend!' A voice whooped as they roamed the corridors. It belonged to ten feet (probably) of sickening muscle and sweat, a burly idiot named Jackson. It had put Dean off the song, actually, and that made him resent the jerk far more than anything he said. 

'I am not Dean's boyfriend' Castiel said calmly. Dean jerked at his sleeve, urging him to keep going and ignore them. 

'Oh, is that so?' The boy snarled, quirking his eyebrows in amusement. His horde of similarly built idiots cackled. 

'Yes, it's true. Dean and I are-'

'Jeez, dude, they're just kidding' Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, as he did so often around Castiel, and pulled him away. 

Their raucous laughter (over pretty much nothing) followed the boys down the hallway, but Dean couldn't remember ever having cared about what other people thought of him, and he sure as hell wouldn't start now. 

Anyway, Dean would be out of here, and soon. Sam was already wistfully asking about advanced classes, and he had secret books about eloquence and calculus and theorems shoved in the back of his drawer. Dean had even once caught him leafing through one of the university syllabi they left at the front desk of the school, although Sam had dropped it like it was burning when he saw his brother. But Dean...Dean wasn't sure. He was good at maths, sure. And he supposed he would probably end up beneath an exhaust pipe for the rest of his life, and that was fine. He loved cars; if something was ailing them, Dean could fix it. Unlike people, their problems were methodical, could be quickly fixed up. But Dean longed for the simplicity of earlier times, being a kid, not having to worry about "the future". Fondly, he thought of when he and Castiel, as children, had had a well formulated business going. In all the years they played pretend at this, neither boy ever clarified what the nature of the business was. They just used to mess about, sometimes stealing the one tie John Winchester owned and taking turns with it, shuffling blank papers and taking fake calls and writing squiggles on sticky notes. Dean smiled at the memory, and wished fervently for that innocence and unequivocal passion, for nothing at all, for something, for life. 

Castiel's proximity, though, was always a nice reminder. As though that part of Dean hadn't been lost, but had just grown up beside him. He resisted the urge to squeeze Castiel's hand like he would do if they were at home. 

Castiel sighed. 

'Whats up?' Dean smirked at his friend's dramatic airs. 

'I really don't feel like school today'

Dean shrugged. 

'So lets leave' he suggested. Even as he said it, he laughed, knowing full well what Castiel would say. 

'No, Dean. School is important' He frowned. 

'Is that so?'

'Yes, Dean, in fact-'

'Shut up, Cas' Dean said, his voice light. 'I was kidding'

'I know' he grumbled. 

They swung through the hallways, Dean strolling and Castiel's footsteps always lighter, like he was walking somewhere exciting, not to class. The noise of the bell hurried the other students, but the two boys continued at their same pace, watching kids roll by as the reigned cool. 

'See ya at lunch, then' Dean saluted Castiel as he stopped by his first class. 

'Yes, Dean, I will see you then'

Once Dean's footsteps had retreated, Castiel opened the door. His stomach squirmed because the class was quiet when he walked in, so everyone stared at him. 

He glanced at the teacher, half-willing her to speak to give him something to do, half-willing her to let him be because being told off made him flinch. However, she didn't contradict his mild lateness, and he breathed too loud as he walked to his seat at the back of the class. It was English, and the class sat reading their books for ten minutes before their teacher shifted. 

Cas clattered about getting his stuff out, wincing when people turned to glare at him. He retrieved 'Absolute Beginners' and tried desperately to decipher the words, but the ink swam before his eyes, so he rocked back in his chair and waited for class to commence. 

He dreaded every moment without Dean. From the moment their paths crossed as seven year olds, Cas had felt safe. They were so codependent now that he felt paranoid without him, felt like he'd left a limb behind. Castiel was pretty much a loser anyway, weak and smart and quiet and humble, and Dean kept this glossy exterior, an air of mystery. Dean was like an armour he wore around school, an edge. Maybe Castiel would never be popular, but as long as Dean was around, no one messed with him. 

So, Cas did what he always did. He sat at the back, only answered if the teacher called on him, chatted calmly and casually to people but kept them at arm's length, only let himself relax into his body when he was with Sam and Dean. 

He focused himself on the lesson and not on thinking about Friday night, because if he did every square inch of his body leapt into action. It was nice, really, that he and Dean were so normal around each other that a kiss meant nothing. But it wasn't like Castiel hadn't thought about it before. He usually idly agreed with Dean when chatting about how cute girls were or sex or anything like that, but he had to admit, it was probably his love for Dean that got in the way. He loved Dean, he wasn't in love with him. He just got the two confused sometimes. Just forgot which was which. 

But school was desperately boring. As ever, he noted, but today he was restless. Today, his bones congealed under his skin, his blood fizzed, his veins twitched. He needed out. 

'Ma'am?' He shot his hand into the hair. 

The teacher ignored him, her honey-glazed voice filling the room with sickly sweet. Several kids turned to look at him. 

'Ma'am!' He repeated. She jumped and looked at him. 

'I don't feel well. May I go to the office?'

'Sure. Pick up one of these sheets, get the homework done. Anyway, where was I...'

Astounded, considering he didn't look peaky at all, and astounded that he had had the guts to lie, he hurriedly poured his stuff into his bag and rushed out before the teacher realised he was bluffing. Maybe it was his squeaky-clean-look that had let him get away with. 

Castiel paced the corridors, his shoes squeaking on the Lino. Dean, Dean...if Castiel had English, Dean must have it too. Dean was three classes below him, so that meant...Castiel stomped up a violently red plastic staircase and jerked open the right door before he could stop himself. 

The hubbub of the classroom stilled. 

'Yes?' the teacher asked. His combover was glued to his sweaty forehead. 

'There's someone waiting at the office for Dean Winchester. He was supposed to go to the dentist's' Castiel jabbered out, words blending into one. 

Dean frowned, but complied, rising and swinging his bag over his shoulder. He nudged Castiel, and he followed Dean out the door. 

'Whats up, Cas?' He narrowed his eyes as they jogged down the stairs and through the halls. 'Are you okay?'

Cas nodded, and then couldn't resist a smile. 

'Could we-go somewhere?'

Dean spluttered. 'You mean skip, huh? What's gotten into you?'

Castiel shrugged, feeling infinitely stupid. 

'I couldn't really bear it in there'

Dean laughed, not even bothering to glance around as they exited the school. 'Thats how I feel 24/7, dude'

They whirled out into the day with new life and new light crossing their faces. Castiel burned with the joy of having wronged, the illicit thrill, the little boy in him that longed to be cool and suave and nonchalant like Dean. And Dean, well, he felt pretty good to be a bad influence. 

'And where to, huh?' Dean mused. 'We ain't got a car with us, sport' 

'Mmm. We could walk somewhere, I guess' Castiel shrugged, feeling stupid for not having thought about his plan before dragging Dean out of class. Hell, Dean needed to work, and he didn't need any excuse to slack. 

'Oh, and where we gonna walk to, Cas?' He laughed, deep in his throat, slinging an arm around Cas and making him squirm. 'Good thing they run buses this time of day, huh?'

Castiel silently thanked the Lawrence bus route for salvaging his whim of a plan. 

'Go into town? Milkshake maybe, movie...hey, they gotta have opened the ice rink by now, whaddya say, man?' Dean's arm slid off Castiel's shoulders and down his back before falling back to his side once more. 

Cas groaned theatrically. 'Dean, I cannot skate'

He earnt a wide smirk. 'Sure you can. Its all in your mind, Cas'

'Dean, please. If I'm going to skip school'-his voice dropped to speak these words, as if someone might overhear-'then I want to do something good. Not skating' 

He folded his arms firmly across his chest. Dean poked at his pout-Christ, that's embarrassing-before nodding. 

'Sure thing. S'mthing fun. I can do that'

Fortunately the bus stop was a few minutes away, not a long trek but a good distance that it didn't look conspicuous for two young boys to be loitering there in the middle of the day. It was stormy weather these days, and as a result the sky trembled with weak threat, purple dust singing across the skies. It was too dark for it to be so early, and Cas wished the sun would shine. He liked to feel it warm the back of his neck and glow on them and the way it made Dean's eyes gold in translucence. Dean liked the weather like this just fine, thank you very much. 

The bus was grubby blue and filled with pensioners. Dean ignored them. Castiel smiled politely, although none of them inclined any gratitude at his friendliness. He wedged himself beside Dean on the little plastic seats, even though the bus was largely empty and it would've been more comfortable if one of them sat in front and turned around to talk. Their legs pressed together but neither boy shifted. 

The town centre of Eastham, Lawrence, Kansas was about as thrilling as one might expect. It had a fair few shops, enough to get what you needed most of the time without having to drive all the way to the main city, but mostly everything had a grey aura, a cloud of dinginess hovering over it. Castiel wished they'd at least whitewash a grubby wall or two, or knock down some of those awful 1990s cinder-block towers, but his wish had yet to be granted. 

'Milkshake?' Castiel asked, fumbling in his backpack to see if he had any money left over from his shift at the weekend. 

'C'mon, Cas, its too early to eat. Can we do something first?' Dean asked, knowing full well Castiel was unlikely to refuse, and sure enough, he nodded.

'What do you want to do?'

Dean cracked him a toothy smile, bordering too far over cheeky into the territory where Castiel knew something was about to be asked of him. 'I'd really like to go ice-skating'

Cas sighed, unintentionally blowing a piece of hair skyward. There was little point in causing an arguement, since Dean would get his way, either way. 

'You don't even like ice-skating' He huffed, but allowed Dean to walk him away from their usual lunch-spot and in the direction of the sports complex, probably the only thing shiny and new about the town. 

'Yeah, but I just fancy it. That okay with you, or do I need to give you a run-down of everything I'm feeling this morning?'

'No need to be rude' Castiel sighs, defeated once more. An excitable pop tune blares over the speakers as they enter the complex. 

Dean grimaces at the music, but pays for two tickets. Castiel opens his mouth to yell at Dean for paying for him like usual, but then realises he couldn't give a toss about ice skating and Dean can definitely fund this outing. 

'One size 10 and one size 9, sweetheart...thank you' Dean smiled belligerently at the girl at the counter as she handed them skates, but managed to refrain from a full-on flirt-fest, which would've taken a while, and to be honest, Castiel has heard every variation a thousand times. 

They walk into the ice rink, fortunately cooler than the humid reception area. The music is softer here, smooth or jazz or something like that. They sit on the steps beside the rink to kick off their shoes and put their skates on. 

'Don't know why they even bother having it open when the kids are in school' Dean nods to the sparsely populated ice, just a few couples tumbling over, the odd graceful person glazing moves across the space. Castiel is watching them and feeling anxious as Dean ties on his own skates, and then leans over Castiel and starts untying his shoes for him. 

'Dean, I am quite capable of-'

'Shut up, Cas, I know you can fucking do it. Remember when you couldn't tie your laces?' Dean smiled where Cas couldn't see as he slid the shoes off Castiel's feet. 

Castiel snorted. 'Yeah. I thought no one knew except us, but you used to have to do them up for me whenever we did PE'

'We were so obvious' Dean tapped Castiel's shin as he finished lacing the skates. He swung himself onto the ice behind them, wobbling to his feet, and once balanced, he outstretched a hand for Castiel. 

Cas groaned in response, but begrudgingly put a hand into his and clambered onto the ice, falling into Dean. 

'Whoa, whoa...hang on, kid' Dean laughed soft in Castiel's ear, shoving him back so they both could regain their footing. Once Dean let go of his grip on Castiel's forearms, however, Castiel crumpled onto the ice. 

He shut his eyes for a moment, ignoring the infantile urge to cry, the pain in his arse and the cold seeping through his skin and the humiliation of not being able to stand on the ice for ten bloody seconds, whilst Dean glided with ease. Dean didn't even like ice skating. 

But then, Dean reached down, and grasped him firm but gentle, pulling him to his feet. He allowed Castiel to lean into him.

'Hey, hold on properly, here' he said, using the soft voice he usually reserved for teaching Sam maths or when Castiel had nightmares. He lifted Castiel's arms and dropped them loose around his neck. Dean skated backwards, avoiding Castiel's feet bumping all over the place. 

They went on like that for a minute, Castiel clinging to Dean, Dean spinning slowly and gracefully, pulling both boys along, their hot breaths on each others cheek and hands dancing across bare skin. 

'This was a horrible idea, Dean' Castiel sighed, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. 

'Cas. Cas!' Dean cried, Castiel's movement unbalancing them both, their skates tangling together and they ended up crashing onto the ice. 

'Christ, Cas' Dean growled, but made no move to shift Castiel off him, where his body had fallen on top. 

Their faces were too close. Dean could taste Castiel's breath. Castiel wanted to scream. Dean shifted slightly beneath him, and reached up to adjust Castiel's collar. An odd thing to do, considering they were crumpled on the floor in a mess. Dean smoothed his hands over the top of Castiel's shirt. Cas breathed too hard, too fast, too loud. 

And then Dean reached back up and shoved him off. 

'Up, Cas, c'mon'

Castiel groaned in response, holding a hand out to Dean to drag him up, stubbornly letting Dean take all his weight. 

'C'mon, Cas' Dean half-laughed, wheezed, as Castiel tried to fall into him again. 'At least try'

'I didn't ask to come here' Castiel snapped, for some reason pissed at Dean all of a sudden. 

'Cas. Here' Dean methodically untangled Cas' arms and rested one of his palms in his. They held hands tight, mainly on Castiel's part. His irritation dissipated when Dean pulled him across the ice and he managed not to fall for a few minutes. Whenever he did stumble, Dean would grab him and pull him into him, so Castiel would fall on top of Dean instead of onto the ice. 

It was kind of weird, but Castiel was grateful he didn't have quite such a sore and damp rear as he usually did when they went skating, and Dean was probably making up for forcing Castiel to come here. 

He was almost-almost-having a nice time. With clinging to Dean, it made the whole thing a lot more enjoyable, actually being able to stay upright for a while. And him and Dean, smiling and skating around, holding onto each other for support and warmth and something else-it was good. 

Although, when they ended up sprawled on the ice again, Castiel's legs draped over Dean's, and Dean said, 'Lunch?', Castiel cried, 'finally!' And leapt to his feet, only to fall down again. 

'You ok?' Dean rolled his eyes, manoeuvring them both upwards. 

'Mm. Think I bashed my knees up a bit. It's cool' Castiel felt cold and weary and sort of fancied curling up in bed with a movie, not that that was really an option. 

They slid onto the steps and shed their skates with numb fingers. 

'God-fuck, I'm-' Dean fumbled with the laces, and Castiel laughed, brushing his hands out of the way and doing it for him. 

Dean looked at him like Castiel had just fallen out of the sky and landed beside him. 'Growing up, huh'

Castiel glowed at that, not hearing the sadness and offness of Dean's voice, grabbing at Dean's hand as they walked back into the reception. 

Dean squeezed Castiel's fingers back for a second, but then he dropped it like he'd grasped a live wire. 

Castiel kind of felt like he'd just been shot, but it was no big deal. 

Dean slid the skates back over the counter. 

'Hiya, doll. How's things?' Dean glowed at the girl over the counter, glowed in that way that reminded Castiel sharply he did not only turn gold for Cas, he did not only shine for Cas, he did not belong to Cas. 

'Dean, I'm just going to the bathroom' he murmured, and Dean waved him off with a sweep of his hand, leaning forward to the girl. 

Castiel pissed and washed his hands three times over. He stood watching himself in the mirror for a while, willing Dean to bust in and check he was okay. He didn't. Someone had punched or cracked the mirror and it splintered at the side, fragmenting into a hundred little Castiels. Every single one of them looked weak. He saw a hundred sad, small boys, and longed for just one of them to do something. Be something, even. 

Instead, all of the reflections just looked back at him, expectantly. He reached forward and extricated one of the splinters of glass and clasped it in his hand. 

In the lobby, Dean was still drawling over the girl. She was sinking further into the floor with every step, knees crumbling with every syllable Dean spun. Castiel thought he knew how she felt, but that didn't stop him itching to shove her. 

'Dean, let's go' Castiel urged, his previous wave of irritation at Dean reappearing. 

'Hmm? Oh, Cas' he said, like he'd forgotten he even existed. 

'Come on'

Dean winked at the girl in goodbye, and she grabbed his sleeve so she could scrawl something down on a scrap of paper. 

Dean remained passive and cool before her, but when they left, he grinned at Castiel. 

'The usual?' Dean asked, implying milkshake and burger. 

'Actually, I'm not feeling so good. Maybe we should go back to school. Or home, even'

A frown crossed Dean's face, just for a moment. Then he nodded. 

'Sure, Cas'

When Dean tried to put his hand on Castiel's shoulder, Cas made a point to shrug him off. The glass in his palm cut a slice, but he didn't wipe the blood as it trickled down his hand.


	4. 4

Dean doesn't let Castiel get off the bus at the school. There's hardly any point anyway, since there's probably only a few hours left by the time the bus trawls by. So Dean rides the bus with Castiel until it goes no further and they have to walk back to the kid's home. Its a safer bet, since Mary will quiz their absence from school far more than any of the careworkers, and Dean is under the impression Castiel has been gripped by some sudden illness. 

'Ok, man?' Dean asks, placing the back of his hand on Castiel's forehead to gauge his fake illness. Castiel wants to flinch away, but Dean's touch, comforting and concerned, melts him. He tries to fight his weaknnes. Dean is looking at him too softly, though. 

Anyway, Castiel tells himself, its hardly like Dean needs his forgiveness. He didn't even do anything wrong, it was just the sugary sweetness of his tone and the girl's inane giggle and their proximity that unnerved Cas. It was nothing out of the ordinary, it just had gotten under his skin. Happens sometimes, he told himself. Nothing's up. 

'Can I come in?' Dean asks, nudging at the dust with the toe of his shoe. He asks instead of demanding, and the sun is in his eyes when he looks up at Castiel so he squints a little. He is completely and utterly forgiven, instantly. 

'Of course' Castiel smiles, and holds out his hand. The house is the same as ever, yet stiller in the middle of the day, the abscence of the town's unwanted teens making it calmer. If it weren't for the information board and the office and the randomly strewn belongings, it might've been just a normal house. 

Castiel knows the Winchester house like he knows the back of his hand, could walk around with his eyes shut and not bump into anything. Thats his home, really. For obvious reasons, he absolutely avoids making his living conditions apparent to anyone, and Dean is the only person he has ever brought here. He shifts about awkwardly, and waits for Castiel to start up the stairs before following him. It is not a nice place, it is not a happy place, and Castiel does not want its mark on their friendship anymore than he wants its mark on himself. One day, he will leave and never come back, and then he will sit in the bath for hours until he can scrub its taint off his skin.

The staircase is dark honey wood and sweeps around the centre of the house, patched up with several carpets and odd bits of broken plastic. There's a huge window hafway up, and it would be a nice dreamy place to sit in the sun and read, if you wouldn't get interrupted by vicious or arrogant or irritating kids every ten minutes thundering up and down the staircase. It was a wonder the old wood didn't collapse in on itself, the way it was abused every day. 

Castiel doesn't have to share a room anymore, which is nice. He used to share with a kid named Leon for a few years, and he was nice enough, but Cas far more appreciates a piece of quiet, something thats just a bit his, in a house of noise and chaos, rather than cherishing the company. Its one of the smallest rooms since he sleeps on his own, but he doesn't care. Any alternative is far, far worse. 

'Haven't been here for ages' Dean muses, squeezing into the room. 'Still looks the same, though' 

The room is small and blue and calm and quietly comforting. Kind of like Cas, thinks Dean. It smells like clean, and the bed is neatly made, unlike Dean's at home. He forgets that Cas is quite so neat, sometimes. The white blanket is folded back over the blue duvet like in a hotel, and there are no posters on the wall, except since Dean was last there, Castiel has painted white clouds nebulising over the pale blue walls. Other than the bed, there's his little wardrobe, containing his clothes, and the drawers at the bottom and the boxes on the top contain the rest of his worldly possessions. At least half of the things he owns were gifts from the Winchesters, and the majority of those he actually values are straight from Dean. There is nothing else. That is all. 

Dean sits on the bed, but waits for Castiel to slump down and get comfortable before Dean is eased enough to kick off his shoes and lean against the wall in some illusion of comfort. 

Cas leans his head back too, the wall worn with years of angry kids hitting in and pinning up posters and chucking objects at it. He feels like he might fall through; his head is swimming horribly, and when he blinks furiously, his vision refuses to focus. It scares him. 

'Dean?'   
'Mm?'  
'Do you have any alcohol?' 

Castiel is not entirely sure what possessed him to ask this, but it seems like a reasonable thing to do given how hard his heart is aching. 

Dean looks horribly guilty. Castiel sighs. 

'I'm not going to tell you off or anything, Dean. May I have some?' 

Dean stares at him incredulously, and Castiel waits for him to start laughing or smirking or make some stupid comment, but Dean just nods blandly, retrieving a dark glass bottle and handing it over quietly. Castiel isn't sure what exactly it is and doesn't ask, but it smells like heat and warmth and fire and fear, familiar and foreign, comforting and repulsive. It tastes similarly. 

'Slow down, Cas' Dean grunts, nudging him. At first it just tastes dark and bitter and Castiel thinks, wow, that wasn't so bad. But then it sears down his throat like its lighting him from the inside, pleasant and uncomfortable all at once. Of course, Castiel has had alcohol before, he's seventeen, for Christ's sake. Just, the sentiment of being drunk never appealed to him, and he prefers to be alert in order to drag Dean home. Just a couple of beers, a few sips of Dean's drinks followed by a twisted face. On several occasions, he's snatched Dean's water bottle only to find it filled with vodka. Things like that really, really scare Castiel, and what's worse, the taste on his lips is reminiscent of Dean. Is he really so numb to Dean's drinking that he doesn't even notice it on his breath? 

Dean gingerly extracts the bottle from Castiel's hands and drinks it like water. He passes it back, and they each take sips back and forth without much pause. They don't talk for quite a while, until Castiel feels his fogginess subside and a new haze set it. 

Had Castiel been sober, he might have further evaluated the full gravitas of Dean's actions. But he wasn't, and at the time, it didn't really occur to him that it was anything out of the ordinary. As Castiel sat up straighter, fuelled by the new found buzz of the drink, fascinated by the languid high as most first-time drunkards are, Dean sunk further and further into the mattress. Later, Castiel turned the moment over and over in his mind, but at the time, he barely noticed Dean lying down on his lap and starting to cry. 

Dean is glad the old house is deserted, because he cannot shake it. Its the worst kind of crying, silent convulsions, and Castiel's jeans are damp from where he's buried his face onto the other boy's thigh. Castiel strokes his hair with the gentlest force, and Dean moves into him, cannot get close enough. Castiel is the only calm he knows in the whole world, but there is not enough, never enough of him to wipe Dean of the dark, and the dark is creeping steadily on. He wants to puke, throw up the bad onto the carpet, wants to slice his skin open and bleed the bad out, wants to pull himself out of himself and maybe he will feel better. Castiel's voice hums above him, Dean doesn't care what he's saying. He keeps crying until no more tears will come and he's just choking and breathing too hard, gasping. Castiel is speaking, soothing, and deciphering his words is necessary. Just him being there is okay, but not enough. If only Dean could grasp him and pull him into his body, it would be okay. If they could share a body, if they could walk around and share a soul and be the same, then Dean would be good. He remembered, in a moment of idiocy, reading a Goosebumps years ago about an evil twin. One kid was the good, one kid was the bad. That's what Dean thought about them. They were the same soul, one entity, but Dean is the black heart, and Cas the white. Dean is the bad and Cas is the good. Dean is the devil, and Cas is the deity. In any normal person, there would be parts of them dragging them to misbehave, and a part that reasoned with morals. Dean was the part always clamouring to disobey or hurt or wrong, and Castiel was there to be righteous. They were a dichotomy, born to co-exist and contrast, beautifully refusing to congeal ad emulsify, stubbornly sitting apart like oil on water. 

When Dean lifts his head, Castiel is asleep, his neck awkwardly bent between the wall and the mattress. Dean, employing all the care he can muster, lifts his head onto the pillow and sits there, curled up and dizzy, whilst Castiel exhales a dreamless sleep. 

 

Castiel wakes hours later, feeling groggy. He recalls the hours before. Christ, he'd lied about being ill to get rid of Dean and had ended up getting him drunk, instead. Okay, not horribly drunk, but Castiel felt pretty awful. He sat up, a pillow crease running a neat seam down his cheek. 

He chews his lip, studying Dean. His eyes are shut, sat at the foot of the bed, but his breathing is too uneven for him to be sleeping. He's got Castiel's Walkman, and Castiel concludes he is listening to Led Zepellin IV, since Castiel only owns three tapes, and the other two are not exactly to Dean's taste. 

He is reluctant to disturb him, but Dean opens his eyes and removes his headphones anyway. 

'Feeling okay?' He smirks. 

'Dean!' Cas cries, suddenly remembering. 'You were crying!'

Dean raises an eyebrow. As though he's amused. 

'Why?' Castiel demands. 

Dean shakes his head, answers too cheerily. 'Nothing man, its fine. Just the whiskey, it can do that, y'know' 

'It didn't to me!' Castiel protests indignantly, crawling down the bed to sit over Dean. 

'Yeah, dude. I said it can, as in, its a possiblity.' 

'Shut up, Dean. Just tell me' Castiel takes both of Dean's hands and envelopes them in his, even though Dean's hands are bigger. Cas has never seen him look so small. 

'Cas. I appreciate the concern, I really do, but like I said, its nothing. I don't know what came over me' 

Castiel is, unfortunately for Dean, not an idiot. But he appreciates pressing the matter is useless, so he just hugs Dean. Dean hugs him back, both warm, the smell of whiskey unfamiliar on one, and not so much on the other. They sit like so, until they hear the thunder of the children's home kids returning from school. Dean starts, and is gone from under Castiel's hands like water. 

'You gonna be ok, kid?' Dean asks, standing over the bed. 

'I am if you are' 

'Touché' Dean smiles. It's horribly sad. 'Hey, drink lots of water. Get this shit out of your system' 

'Well, you seem fine' Cas deliberated,knowing exactly why Dean was fine. 

'yeah, well. I'm used to it' There it was. 

'You could stay' said Castiel. Stupid. 

'Nah, man. My folks will start to wonder where I am, and besides, this place kind of creeps me out. No offence' Dean shrugged his bag over his shoulder. 'Maybe its haunted'   
Dean laughed. Castiel didn't. This place had ghosts, alright, just not the eerie flickering kind. The kind that lived under your skin. 

'See you tomorrow, then, Dean' He said, wistful of something-he didn't know what. 

Dean bent to kiss Castiel's forehead, either his lips or Cas' skin searing hot. 

STAY, YOU ABSOLUTE FUCK, Cas screamed.

Not out loud, though. 

Dean slammed the door too hard on his way out.


	5. 5

The sun was weak and wintery, but Castiel was grateful for it on his skin as he shimmied between the half-empty pews of the bleachers. It was a milky-grey afternoon, and the buzz was soft but somehow electric. 

'Cas!' Mary called, and he waved in her direction. 

The turn out wasn't exactly what one would expect from a football match or a basketball game, but Lawrence High School's sporting prowess lay solely in its athletics team, and as a result, that generated the most hype. Mostly, it was due to Dean Winchester. It was the first proper race of the season and several local schools had brought kids to race in the tournament. Nothing important, really, but it felt exciting anyway. 

Dean looked pale, his hair oddly blond, smiling to himself as he stretched on the track below. The grey jumper he wore suited him, and he squinted in the cold sun. Castiel took a seat beside Sam halfway up the stands, and Castiel pretended they were his family. Yeah, just one of the Winchesters, sat after school to watch their star perform. That would be nice. 

The row of boys aligned, waiting for the gun. When it popped, the boys were blurs. Sam yelled Dean's name and Mary breathed quiet encouragements and John was on the edge of his seat, but Castiel just sat back, smiling. He had been at every try out, trial and training session, curled up at the very top of the bleachers freezing reading a book. Dean had yet to lose a race. The other boys strained, breezed with effort and exhaustion, but Dean moved gracefully and with ease, like this was all he knew. Everyone else screamed with effort, but Dean's win was quiet and gentle. No one else stood a chance. He was at the start and then he was bursting past the finish point, a lapse in time, a blip in reality. He was a king, a god, a hero. The announcer chalked up points to Lawrence High School and Dean grinned. The other racers' chests rose furiously, but Castiel couldn't see Dean's breath catch in his throat. Was he real?

Every other race was mediocre in comparison, every other runner paling to Dean's blazing. It was only the first proper tournament of the season and hardly counted to anything much but pride and staking a claim of talent, so there wasn't a ton of races. Dean jogged up the bleachers and slid beside Castiel. 

'Dean! You were great' Sam cried, grinning wide with joy. 'This is so cool, I told everyone you were going to win...'

Dean laughed and allowed John to ruffle his hair and Mary to pet him. 

He leaned over to Castiel. 

'Like seeing your boy win it for you?' Dean whispered in his ear. Castiel choked on nothing.  
'Yeah' he whispered back, like it was nothing.  
'This girl's good' Dean gestured to the track with his water bottle. He smelt sweet and warm, like sweat.  
'Oh, yeah?' John laughed, his tone suggestive.  
Dean flat out ignored him.  
She was good. She won the race.  
'Is she in our year?' Castiel asked.  
'Mmm. I have maths with her-she's funny'  
'Oh' said Cas. How nice. Funny and good at sport.  
'Fancy pizza after this?' Mary asked, a pointless question, since all three boys very loudly confirmed that they liked this idea.  
A plethora of people came up or down the steps to congratulate Dean, boys slapping his shoulder and laughing, girls leaning too close to him and giggling. Several offered party requests or hang-outs; Dean politely declined.  
'That was over quick' Sam said, once all the races had finished. It is beginning to get dark, the weak blue of late afternoon rapidly crumbling to deeper shades.  
'Yeah, it's pretty much just to scope out the rival teams and stuff. Not exactly important, but start as we mean to go on, right?' Dean laughed, squeezing Sam's shoulders. Castiel trailed after them, a lost star, burning out beside Dean's radiant brilliance.  
It was getting dark, and the lurid neon lights glowed sharp in the black, monochrome prints of treetops filtering over Castiel's hands as the five of them walked lazily to the pizza place. John and Sam walked ahead and their voices became deeper, more bitter, the further they walked. Dean and Castiel took up the back, and Mary walked between the two couples, ready to intercept Sam and John if their voices rose.  
Castiel and Dean ignored the hushed arguing as they always did, Castiel trying in vain to perpetuate Dean's glory, not to lose the win for him.  
'Sam-!' came a shout from before them, and Dean sighed.  
'You feeling okay, Cas? After yesterday? Whiskey ain't always kind' Dean asked, smoothing over the tension fluidly.  
'What? Oh, yeah. Surprisingly, I felt better than I thought I would. I threw up my dinner, though'  
Dean snorted.  
'It was sausages. I hate sausages'  
'We eating here?' Dean said, raising his voice too address the whole party.  
'Sure, sweetheart' Mary replied, ushering the two of them in before here. The place was warm and had a comforting atmosphere, and the smell of pizza jolted Castiel's brain and he was suddenly ravenous. They sat at a table near the back, its surface white and slippery. Castiel fiddles with the corner of a napkin and Dean drums his fingers on his thighs.  
'Boys? What do you want to eat? You can have a pizza each, if you like' Mary smiles at the three of them. Castiel feels guilty, but knows he won't offer to pay, because no one will let him, and besides, he doesn't have any money.  
'Barbecue, please!' Sam tells Mary, who relays to the waitress, who is twiddling a curl around her pencil.  
'One ham and pineapple and one plain cheese with onions' Dean smiled at the waitress. Castiel smiled back at Dean for knowing his order and not grimacing, even though Dean hated Hawaiian pizza.  
The food came slovenly soaked in grease. Cas sliced his into neat triangles and ate with a plastic knife and fork. Dean had tomato streaked down his chin and grease staining his mouth.  
'Dean, you are such a mess' Castiel laughed affectionately, folding a napkin in two. He leaned over, resting a hand on Dean's knee under the table and wiping his face gently.  
'Cas, get off me, man' he grumbled, flushing red and weakly batting his hand away. Dean's eyes flashed to his dad. Just for a second. Cas doesn't notice. Not like he thinks anything of it, not like he realises how his concealed hand on Dean's leg gets his pulse raising like nothing else. Dean's had sex that feels less intimate than the brief brush of Castiel's skin against his, even just for a second before Dean uproots him.  
'Sorry. You still have a little-yeah' He nods solemnly as Dean swipes the back of his hand across his mouth.  
Its a luxurious time of night, the sky spanning two hundred shades of dark blue, insignificant against the lurid lights, the five of them laughing in the corner. Family, thinks Castiel, this is family. No start or end, no thinking, just being. If they never saw each other again, if they left tomorrow and didn't speak for the rest of their lives, they'd still be family.  
They had to walk home, but it wasn't really that far back, since they took a shortcut. Down the alley. It was long, dark, thin, utterly, utterly creepy.  
'Dean, I don't want to be at the back. The person at the back always gets murdered' Castiel hissed.  
Dean laughed, grabbing Castiel and pushing him in front of him. 'Oh, I can get murdered just fine, huh?'  
'No. You're braver than me' Castiel replied.  
'You're brave, kid'  
'I know. I said you're braver'  
They walked along quietly, the dark enveloping.  
'What was that?' Castiel wailed, grasping Dean's hand in anguish.  
Dean laughed, soft and low in his throat. 'Its nothing, Cas. I got you'  
'Ok, Dean. I trust you' He breathed back.  
'You don't need to. There's nothing here'  
'Ok' Castiel lifted his head; the stars were vibrant out here, middle of nowhere, dark as thick as anything. He twisted his head towards Dean a little, double-sure no one else could hear. 'You make it safe, anyway, Dean'  
Dean smiled back even though it was pitch black and Castiel walked in front of him. Not that he made Castiel feel safe, but he created safety, thats what Cas had said. Dean thought he kind of liked that.  
'Hurry up, wouldya?' John yelled down the line as the two of them dawdled. Dean dropped Castiel's hand and they sped up a bit.  
At the house, Castiel tried tentatively to say goodbye, but was wholly relieved when Mary insisted Dean drive him home.  
'I'll take you boys. Don't trust this one in the dark' John muttered, jerking a thumb towards Dean, even though Castiel was sure the majority of his near-death experiences had been a result of John at the wheel, rather than his son.  
In the car, the distance to the kid's home was absolutely nothing. The car sliced through the heavy weight of the unlit roads, illuminating slivers of the street.  
'I'll just see Cas in. One sec' Dean nodded to his father, slipping out of the car with Castiel in tow.  
'You raced real good today' Castiel affirmed. 'I knew you would, though. You always do'  
Dean grinned, half his face lit up by the floodlights on the long drive. The Impala's headlights were faint behind them, John tapping impatiently at the wheel. Dean's hand was light on the shoulder of Castiel's worn denim jacket, fingers brushing just a fraction of a touch on his neck.  
'Thanks, Cas. You're my number one cheerleader'  
Castiel snorted. 'Well, goodbye, Dean. Sleep well, I hope'  
'Sure. Me, too. Sweet dreams' Dean's index finger pressed into Castiel's neck, and he bent with fluid motion to meet their lips. The kiss had little of Dean's confidence and elegance, and a whole lot of Castiel's awkward discomfort, but it felt unconditionally right. Dean's lips were wet and warm, and Castiel's were soft and almost imperceptible.  
It felt so, so, so right. Maybe this was just a thing they would do now. Dean had kissed him goodnight, and now he was kissing him goodbye. Maybe it was just a soft thing, a kind thing a gentle thing. Maybe this was normal. Maybe this was just friendship.  
When Dean pulled away, Castiel smiled up at him, nervous but wide and full. Dean's eyes were brimming with tears.  
'Sweet dreams, Castiel'  
The next day, Dean was not in school. On Thursday, he came in with a spectacular snail-trail of violent colour down the side of his face. He sat in his desk with his fists clenched, ignored anyone who quizzed the origins of the bruises, and on the walk home from school he cried the whole way.


	6. 6

Dean never cried, as a rule. Dean didn't cry when his favourite aunt was killed in a car crash, he remained stoic. Dean didn't cry when he watched Its A Wonderful Life, he just zoned out. Dean didn't cry when Castiel had nightmares, he just squeezed his eyes shut and ignored it. 

That's why the crying terrified Castiel so much. As soon as they crossed from the main street to the long dirt road that led to the Winchester house and the children's home, Dean's face had fallen into pallor. Once five or ten minutes from the school, he had started to sob. 

It was awful. Horrible. Haunting. His body shook. Castiel reached out and laced their fingers tonight, and to his fortunate surprise, Dean didn't pull away. Instead, he grasped back tightly, too tight, even.

'Dean' said Castiel, not sure what he wanted to say, but just knowing he wanted to say the name. Dean, Dean, Dean. Just saying it soothed Castiel, because to him, the name was strength and safety and softness all at once, and, for a second, the weak Dean before him wavered like a mirage. 

'Castiel' Dean choked back. It was awful. It was an exchange of 'I-love-yous', concealed in Castiel's weighted word and Dean's soft release. 

'Dean,' he said again, this time with drive, 'did-did your Dad-did John do this to you?'

Dean looked at him, his eyes haunted but hallowed to Castiel all the same. 

'What does it matter, Cas? We had an argument. A stupid argument. He hit me. I hit him back. He hit me back, harder. It doesn't matter' 

'Then why are you crying, Dean?' Castiel was just contemplating the fact he had no idea when he'd last seen Dean cry-if ever-when something dawned on him. 'Oh! But-before, when, when we were drunk-you cried then! I'd forgotten, I was drunk, we were...' The tone in his voice was both heartbreaking and infuriating. 'Oh, but Dean...you never cry.'

'Shut up, Castiel' He said, such bitterness he never used with Castiel creeping into his voice. 

'No, Dean! Tell me what's going on. Tell me why you're crying, tell me why your Dad hit you. Tell me-tell me why you keep kissing me' He said, voice louder, angrier, stronger than he had ever dreamt it could be, let alone towards Dean. 

Dean stared at him like all of the life had been drained out of him. Then Dean grasped his shirt by the fistful, pressing him into the wall of the crumbling house behind them, stumbling over the grassy bank. Dean handled him roughly, breath fierce in Castiel's face. 

Don't you dare kiss me, Castiel thought, screamed it. Don't you dare use this as a get out clause, fucking speak to me! Don't kiss me, not now. He thought it so hard he might burst. 

And then, Dean hissed, low and distasteful in his face. 

'Don't you ever, ever, mention any of those things ever again. You hear me?' His eyes met Castiel's for a moment and Cas waited for the hardened look in them to melt. He waited for Dean's rough touch to soften. He waited for Dean to collapse into his arms. Any trace of upset was gone now, replaced with fierce, cold, anger. 

But he pulled away and stormed off down the street, breaking into a run and sprinting away. Dean had never left him before. 

Cas took back his wish. It would've been fine if Dean had kissed him. Anything, anything at all, was better than what just happened. For the first time since they'd met, Dean's forcefield of safety he kept buzzing around Cas had disappeared. Castiel hadn't felt safe. In fact...for a split second, he had felt scared of Dean. He shuddered, wanting to rid himself of that dirty thought, wanting to erase the awful feeling of this Dean. He recalled his breath on his face and that sting of alcohol, so often lingering around Dean when it shouldn't be. It was terrifying he could function around school under the scrutiny of well-trained teachers and be drunk. Castiel knew in his heart of hearts Dean would go home now, or go somewhere else, and get drunk. Very drunk, so bad even Dean couldn't act normal. Despite the ghost of Dean's force on his body and the remains of his bitter words echoing, all Castiel wanted to do was run after Dean and hug him tight. It didn't matter if Dean never kissed him ever again. Just as long as they were together, and Dean would keep Castiel safe and Castiel would keep Dean in harmony. They needed each other, desperately, horribly, in such a way that is destructive to most people. Anyone else, so hopelessly intertwined like this, would cease to be together, the dependency would destroy them. Not Dean and I, thought Castiel with a defiance so unlike him. So like Dean. They needed each other, and they could be one. They were one, they could exist so, just bringing out a little of the good in each other when one of them lacked it. They had a beautiful dynamic. Cas and Dean, Dean and Cas, and Castiel couldn't bear to even contemplate a life sans Dean, let alone entertain the idea with logic or evaluation. 

I'd die, thought Castiel. I couldn't do it without him. I might go on breathing and walking and talking without him, but I'd cease to exist. I'd collapse into myself, I'd fall apart, his absence would tear me to pieces. 

I love him, thinks Cas. And, irrevocable, indomitable and cruel as it is, he thinks, Dean loves me too. Dean loves me! He thinks, glorious with the revelation. He shouldn't, he won't admit it, Cas doubts he knows it, but Dean loves him back. He's afraid of the idea, disgusted by it, even, flinches away, but what does it matter? Dean loves him. The idea seems foul in the wake of such an awful argument, but Castiel lets it simmer, allows it to sit in the back of his mind as he travels home alone for the first time in ten years. 

*

Dean gets home and feels like the worst person in the world. Maybe he is. How could he do that to Castiel? How dare he, take someone as sweet and darling as Castiel Novak and destroy him? How dare he, Dean Winchester, capital fuck up and chronic ruiner of things, shake up such a small, pure thing and taint it with his evil, how could he tear him to pieces and blame him for things Dean cannot fix? Things no one can fix. 

He sighs, leaning against the door, letting his bags slide down to the floor. 

'Dean?' The softest voice in the world. 

'Mom' he chokes, rushing towards her and hugging her so tight like he hasn't done in years. 

'Oh, my sweet boy' she whispers into his hair. 'Oh, Dean'

'Mom, I fucked it up. I keep doing that' He sobs into her neck, soaking away the scent of her floral perfume. 

'No, Dean. There's nothing you can't fix, my baby, okay?'

'No. No, Mom. There's too much, I ruined everything, and it's all crumbled into-into nothing. I can't, Mommy' 

'Dean' she pushed him back gently, looking at him. He flinched, opting to look away rather than feel the guilt of her look. 'Dean, don't talk like that. Ever. Sure, things get bad. Always do, nothing you can do to stop it. But there is nothing-nothing, you hear me?-that you can't fix, Dean Winchester. So stop talking shit'

Dean smiled at the unusual thrill of hearing his mother swear. 

'Hot chocolate?'

He wiped his eyes roughly with the heel of his hand, nodding. His Dad would kill him if he saw him like this. Hell, he might kill him anyway. 

Mary makes two brimming mugs, busily adorning them with cream and marshmallows like Dean does for Sam. He duly notes his mum puts far, far less cream in than he would. 

'Thanks, Mom' he sniffs, feeling like a total idiot, a total wanker, but reassured minutely that his mother has faith in him. 

'Dean, you gonna tell me whats up?' She smiled, soft and sad, hair glowing pale. 

'No.' He said, stoic and stubborn as ever. 

'Dean, maybe-'

'Mom. It's fine, ok. I'll-I'll handle it. Whatever' Jesus, crying is disgusting. No wonder he never does it. He feels weak, like someone drained him and turned him inside out. 

'Dean, please' Mary sighs, setting down her mug on the counter. 

'I said its fine!' He cries, deciding he can't face any of this and retreating upstairs, slamming the door with flair. 

'Fuck!'

Dean slumps on the bed, head falling onto his pillow. He feels like he should cry a bit more, milk his teen-movie moment, but he can't. All those years, not a single tear, and he's used them all up in a flash. 

'I'm shit' he mumbles, not even sure of his words but firm in belief. After a while, he reaches for the Walkman he shares with Cas and ejects Castiel's copy of Led Zepellin IV and inserts his own, purely because Castiel's is in perfect condition, neatly kept in its box (hardly listened to, Dean suspects), but the ribbon in Dean's tape has been wound back a million times. He tightens it up with the pencil nib just an inch before inserting it. 

There's a pile of homework ever growing in his bag, and books to read, and maybe a run to go on, but Dean just lays there, for hours and hours, listening. When the tape cuts, he rewinds it and listens again. 

Dean only has two options. One of them, is to do what every fibre of his being screams at him to do, every natural instinct and reflex and absent subconscious tells him to act on. That is to get in the car, find Castiel and kiss the life out of him, and never stop. To do that would be to give up everything; illusion, safety from homophobic idiocy, his father entirely, perhaps his home, the athletic team. That wouldn't matter though, of course. Castiel matters, and if Dean had him, entirely, unconditionally, it would be like all the planets colliding, beautiful and destructive and worth every moment of chaos. 

His second option is to stop. Sounds easier, but Dean knows in his heart of hearts, it isn't. He can't give up Castiel, but he also can't do this to him. Cas doesn't want him or need him, an besides, this is all stupid, stupid, stupid. Dean doesn't want this. He's not gay, God no. He loves Castiel like no one else on Earth, but that's just because he's Castiel. Who wouldn't? To even entertain the thought of them-God knows, doing stuff, gay stuff, isn't right. That's what Dean tells himself. Not right. Not right. Besides, Castiel doesn't. Won't. Can't. They can't, he can't. He'll just leave it, and Castiel can be okay. Dean fucks him up, and as much as they need each other, Dean kills him. He knows that Castiel knows he hasn't been sober in weeks. The thought prompts Dean to slide a bottle out from under his mattress and take a long drag, pretending it tastes good, pretending he drinks for a reason and not the blind necessity. Dean can stop, stop-this, these twisted thoughts and fever dreams and few stolen kisses, and lets them relax back into themselves. Just a stupid blip, a fuck up, one of many. They can erase it, and go back to being just them, and then maybe Castiel will stop hurting. Maybe Dean will, too. He snorts at the idea, drinking a little more vodka. 

Beside Dean's bed, there is now a little hollow in the wall, and on Dean's fist, a row of scarlet stripes. 

*

The next morning Dean wakes early. Wildly early, he bets even Sam isn't up yet. The sky is devoid of colour, wiped of pigment, full of flat grey. He decides to go for a run. 

'Fuck!' Dean curses under his breath. It is absolutely fucking freezing. He starts going instantly, if only to warm himself up. He hasn't stretched at all and his body is half asleep and screaming from the cold, but he runs. He runs too fast, his feet slamming the ground, his chest aching but he refuses to stop. 

Usually Dean runs out towards the fields or back across town, but he finds himself, subconsciously, running the other way. He has run well past the children's home before he realises, and backtracks. He stands, wheezing, in the middle of the road, contemplating his options, but doesn't allow himself to think for long because otherwise he will stop himself. 

So Dean jogs up to the huge house. It's locked, of course, and he doubts Castiel is awake at this godforsaken hour, but fortunately, the kids home are hopeless enough to have left their spare key in the same place it was in last time Dean broke in here: when he was ten. It's under a half-crushed flowerpot, and he does his best to be quiet, sneaking in. It's really quite creepy in here, the staircase swept with shadows. He eases himself up the ancient floorboards, wanting to hurry to get away from the spookiness, but reluctant to stir anyone, so he tiptoes. 

Dean knocks very gingerly on the door, but no one answers, so he sneaks in. Castiel is a picture of sweetness, looking utterly pure and innocent. How could Dean possibly do a thing to hurt him? 

'Cas?' He whispers, feeling bad to wake him, but proceeding anyway. His weight sinks as he sits on the bed. 

Castiel starts, head lifting sleepily. 'Dean?' He says, as though he was expecting him. 

'Shh' he whispers, stroking his hair back, slightly damp from the humid night. 'Sorry for waking you, Cas'

'Dean, I'm sorry that I-' Castiel begins, raising himself up onto an elbow. 

'No' Dean says, pushing him back down so his head is on the pillow again. Castiel pats the pillow and Dean slips off his shoes, lying his sweaty body next to Cas, faces close, breaths hot. 

'Don't even try that on me, Castiel Novak. I'm sorry for being a shit. I can't believe-look, I promise I will never speak to you like that again' He fumbled under the duvet, linking Castiel's pinky finger with his own. 

'Its ok, Dean. You were upset' Castiel pauses, eyes looking horribly sad in the dark. 'And drunk'

'Yeah, well. Hardly makes a change' Dean looked away to avoid how Castiel was looking at him. 'But I'm sorry. I really am, and I'll stop shouting at you, and stop treating you like shit, and stop kissing you. Just, just forget about it'

Dean leant into him, Castiel's forehead burning against his neck, Cas humming against him as Dean stroked his hair. 

'You don't want to kiss me?' Castiel said, sounding strangely like his younger self. 

'Never mind. That's what you want, right?' Dean said, trying to sound sure of himself and nonchalant, but it came out strangled and accusatory. 

'Ok, Dean.' Castiel sighed, like he was saying it was okay to go for hamburgers instead of pizza for dinner. Castiel shuffled up the bed a little so they were pressed together, and Dean reminded himself this was normal, at least for the two of them. He watched Castiel's eyelashes flutter and his incredibly faint smattering of freckles travel in the shadow, leftover from their recent trip down to the lake when it had been sunny not so long ago. Cuddling Castiel was synonymous to Dean with sleeping, and sleeping well, and he soon fell asleep. 

Castiel woke up first. Dean was holding him graciously, like he might fall or slide through his fingers. This felt safe. This was safety. 

He raised his head a little, inspecting the violence reminiscent on Dean's face. Who was keeping Dean safe?

Castiel's gut twisted, but it wasn't like there was a lot he could do. Supposedly, comply with Dean's wishes. Castiel knew he wasn't maybe the sharpest on the ways of the world, and heavily relied on Dean to translate emotions a lot of the time, but he was no idiot. He had felt horror befall him yesterday morning when he saw Dean, but he knew instantly why. John, generally, was sweeter on Dean than on Sam, but the occasional violent projection wasn't rare. And Castiel tried to ignore the truth, but it was almost certain John had seen them, tucked in the darkness, dizzy with sick heavy scents, kissing. Kissing. Jesus! 

He sighed. He wished John, often kind and calm and mild-mannered, would never lay a hand on either of his sons. But Castiel didn't understand people and the way their brains worked, and he didn't understand why Dean would hold him like he was made of glass and marble, only to break him so easily with his words. Maybe he had been wrong about how Dean feels about him. Castiel thought he might die if Dean kissed him again, but he also thought he might die if Dean didn't. 

On that awful thought that he quickly cast away as stupid and untrue, Dean stirred, making a soft noise in his throat as he pulled back from Castiel's body, lazily rubbing at his eyes. 

'Cas...?' 

'Good morning, Dean' he smiled up at him, feeling small as he often did beneath him. 

'Morning, Cas' Dean shifted back a bit, unlacing their legs. Castiel found to his annoyance his leg on the bottom was completely numb, and he dug his fingers into it sharply in an attempt to retrieve feeling. 

Dean groaned. 'Cas, man, I hate to tell you this, but we better get a move on if you wanna make school in time for first period. That is, if you wanna go...'

Castiel chewed his lip. Dean hovered his hand over the duvet, unsure whether to rise or not. 

'I suppose we had better go' Castiel admitted, feeling conflicted. 'We skipped already the other day'

Dean grunted in response. 'Suppose you're right. As ever' he rolled reluctantly from the bed. 'Get dressed, and I'll call home, tell Sam I went to school early'

'Mmm. A likely story' 

Dean snorted. 'Was that sarcasm? Huh?' He gave Castiel a playful shove, and everything fell back into place.


	7. 7

Cas was really, really glad that he and Dean had made up before Friday. They'd fought for longer periods in their lives, but never as badly as this. If they hadn't been talking, Castiel didn't think he could've faced a Friday evening alone, the first alone for ten years, save the odd bout of flu that wasn't shared or rare holiday on Dean's part. 

It wasn't uncomfortable, exactly. Between the two of them, they didn't have it in them to be awkward with each other. But something hung in the air, something unsaid and fierce that burned up the space between them and forced them closer together just so they could breathe better. 

Castiel jogged upstairs, dropped his jacket on Dean's floor, and then ran back down into the den, seeing as Dean's parents occupied the living room. They'd all had dinner together, except John, who was allegedly working. Avoiding Cas, maybe?

'What'd'y wanna do, kid?' Dean smiled. His voice was soft, softer than usual. Castiel squidged onto the capsized couch-slash-heap. 

'Don't know. Not a movie, because you won't let me talk. Twister?'

Dean winced, because he didn't think he could stand a prolonged period of time pressed against Castiel. Cas took the noise as dismissal. 

'Uh...board game?' Castiel said weakly, feeling horribly boring as he so often did beside Dean. 

'How about a party game?' Dean said, somewhat slyly. 

'Like Truth or Dare?' Cas smiled, looking childishly delighted. Dean felt wicked, and it made him shiver. 

'Yeah. Never Have I Ever, maybe?' Dean thought Spin the Bottle or 7 minutes in heaven could probe a little biased, so he'd leave them out. 

Castiel snorted. 'Dean, I hardly think I have enough life experience to constitute a fair game'

Dean rolled his eyes. 'Truth or Dare it is, then' He hummed. 'Hang on...shots' Dean procured a bottle of whiskey for him and a carton of pink milk for Cas. 

Castiel unfurled his legs from beneath him, twisting to face Dean and crossing his legs. Dean mirrored him with a mild grin. 

'Me first' Cas clamoured, smacking his lips together. 'Actually, you go. I can't think of one'

'Ok. First crush?'

'Thats a rubbish one, Dean'

'Ok! Alright, man, I'm easing you in' Dean shoved him on the shoulder. 

'Ok. It was you, of course' Castiel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Something inside Dean twisted awfully. 'Me? When?'

Castiel shrugged. 'When we were really little. You made me feel safe. I thought we'd get married'

Dean laughed out loud, tipping his head back. 'Married, huh? You'd be my little wife?' He'd said it as a joke but suddenly it dawned on him and he felt dizzy with the idea. Cas, his little wife, so good for him, pale white and powdered...

Castiel blushed horribly. 'I just thought you married someone you loved. Like, best friend. Do I drink, or you?'

Dean shrugged, and Castiel sipped the pink milk like one would down a shot, leaving a mark of lurid colour across his lip. Dean didn't swipe it away because he thought Castiel looked oh so earnest and childlike. 

'Ok. You go' Dean continued to turn the thought over in his mind. 

'Uh...tell me about your first kiss'

'Hundreth time. You know this. 12, junior disco, too much lipgloss. Taller than me.' 

Castiel smirked back at Dean, giggling with the memory, the unfamiliarity of a Dean who was unsure to any degree. Dean drank deep from his bottle, if only to rid himself of embarrassment, if that was such a thing Dean Winchester experienced. 

'You go, then, Mr Elusive. First kiss' Dean lingered on the sentence. 'Do I already know this? I should'

Castiel wriggled away, flushing red. Dean laughs, leaning forward so as not to let Castiel escape. 

'C'mon, man. Can't be that bad'

Castiel shakes his head, sipping his milk even though he hasn't done his go yet. 

'Aw, Cas, man..' Dean rolls his eyes, prodding Castiel on his arm. 'Tell me'

'You' Castiel says, his voice so small and imperceptible Dean must've misheard. 

'Huh?' Dean leans in, half his mouth raised in that absent, confident-but-kind half smile he sometimes allows Castiel. 

Castiel's eyes drop to his lap. His face burns. 

'Cas...'

'You, Dean' he repeats. 

Dean laughs, but the noise scrapes his throat with the strain. 

'How come?'

'The other day. You kissed me' Castiel said, his voice suddenly calm and cool. 

A choked noise escapes Dean, although he's not entirely sure it was him at all. 

'You've never...not even...' Dean exhales heavily. 'I'm so sorry, Castiel'

He frowns. 'Why are you sorry, Dean? Just because-'

'That was awful of me. You deserved a better kiss. A better time, person...at least a vaguely sober one' he chews his lip. 

'There is no one else, Dean' Castiel said in such a way that Dean's heart bled through his shirt. 

'Cas. I didn't know'

Castiel smiles, sweeping his messy hair back off his forehead. 

'Truth or Dare, Dean?'

Dean drinks his whiskey. 'Dare'

Castiel swears he sees his eyes glimmer, just an inch. 

'Do it again' Castiel breathes the words like they are all he knows. 'Kiss me again'

Dean slides his tongue over his lips, his mouth tasting disgustingly dry. He chases it with a sharp slosh of whiskey. 

'No, Castiel' He sets down the bottle and takes one of Cas' hands from his lap, but Cas jerks it back childishly. 

'You don't call me Castiel' he says, sounding more accusatory than he meant.

'Cas. Play the game' he murmurs. 

'Why don't you?' Castiel replies, voice sounding bitter in the most naïve way. 

Dean rocked forward on his heels, and his heart splintered when Castiel's eyes shone, but shadowed when Dean kissed his forehead, instead. Like he'd do to Sam. 

'I'm going to go get some homework done. Ok?'

Castiel didn't reply, just stayed cross legged and somewhat simmering. Liar, he thought. The dirty word, cruel word, burned in his mouth to even think of saying it, sat acrid on his tongue. Eventually he swapped his contact lenses for his glasses, slightly wonky white wireframes, and retrieved some books from his bag. A previously undetected headache seared at the side of his head, and his eyes protested by refusing to decipher anything on the page before him. He sighed, shutting his book, swinging his legs off the sofa and picking up the pink milk and walking down the corridor to the openness of the lounge-kitchen area. 

'Alright, Castiel?' Mary smiled at him like she was happy to see him. She probably was, he allowed himself to admit. 

'Yeah, just fine. Are you ok?' He asked politely, reciprocating the question even though Mary had intended it more as a greeting than a question. 

He replaced the pink milk neatly inside the fridge. 

'You boys want some ice cream?' She asked. 

'Yes!' Sam whooped. Castiel jumped, not having noticed Sam awkwardly sprawled on the carpet. 

'Dean is upstairs.' Castiel said in reply. 

'So call him' Sam retorted, springing to his feet and following his mother like an eager puppy as she retrieved a carton. 

'He's busy. Working' Castiel said, stoic. Mary's eyes met his for a second, both of them acutely aware Dean would usually abandon an imperative assignment just to sit with Castiel and do nothing much. 

'So, don't tell him' Mary suggested, grinning. Sometimes, often, Castiel failed to see the origin of Dean's suaveness, his cheekiness, in his rigid father and soft mother, but that glint in Mary's eyes reminded him just where Dean got it. 

'Wanna watch TV?' Sam asked Castiel, hovering over his mother as she scooped out ice cream. 

'Sam, would you give me an inch of space?' She batted her son away. 'You wanna do it yourself?'

'He's rubbish with the ice cream scoop' Castiel stated. Sam grinned, theatrically stepping back from his mum as she served, each bowl equal. Dean would give Sam an extra scoop, Cas noted. 

'Thanks!' Sam said, sweeping his bowl off the counter and rushing back into the lounge, pressing on the TV. 

'Thank you' Castiel said, sincere as ever, following Sam and collapsing cross-legged beside him on the floor before the box. They sat like that, slurping ice cream before the TV. They had more ice cream, seconds permitted by Mary, thirds sneaked when she left the room. Sam pinched an ice cube from the tray and slipped it down Castiel's shirt, which Cas found funny, but it made him horribly cold. 

'Boys, I think maybe you should head upstairs' Mary hummed, pretending not to notice that her son was on his third or possibly fourth bowl of chocolate ice cream. 

Castiel nodded, allowing Mary to hug him goodnight, but secretly enjoying it, shutting his eyes because no one else hugged him like this, just because they could. He knew John was in the house somewhere, but he didn't say goodnight to Cas. 

It was furiously dark outside as he climbed the stairs. 

'Dean?' He asked, delicately tapping his door. 

When he received no answer, he went in. 

'Cas!'

Castiel smiled softly, seeing Dean in the centre of the room, dancing horribly to Kashmir. By his wide smile and luxe movements, Cas could tell he was drunk. Homework, huh. 

'Hi, Dean' He grinned, allowing Dean to grasp his forearms and pull him into his chest, dancing about with Castiel like a rag doll. 

'Ahhh, my good boy. My favourite boy' the syllables lingered in Castiel's ear as Dean spilt them like honey. 

'Your boy' Castiel hummed in agreement, Dean stumbling as he warbled the lyrics. 

The meeting of their bodies was mercenary. Cruel, criminal elegance, the feeling static-electric in Castiel's extremities, a warm, distant buzz in every crevice of Dean's intoxicated body. 

'Love you, Dean' he sighed, lolling his head on Dean's chest. 

'Forever' Dean slurred, although maybe he wasn't as drunk as he was letting on. 

'Dean, are you sleepy?'

'Are you?'

Castiel nodded, hair grazing Dean's neck. 

'Bedtime?' Dean yawned, tripping backwards a little, allowing Castiel to hoist him back up. Not drunk. Just a little tipsy. 

Castiel guided Dean to the bed-Dean let him-and pulled off his socks and jeans in a delicate and careful way, folding his clothes and passing him a bottle of water to reject the alcohol. 

'Cas' Dean groans, pressing his nose and the side of his face into the pillow. 

'Sshh. Time for sleep' Castiel clucked, pulling the duvet up over Dean as he got undressed. 

'Cas' he murmured, letting his eyes fall and smacking his lips. 'We never finished our game'

'Goodnight, Dean'

*

They're both tired and find sleep easily, swirls of vivid dream and lurid colour. 

Only Dean wakes in the middle of the night. Which is odd, because he didn't have a nightmare. His heads a little foggy, but he's used to the effect enough to push through. But then he realises, oh God, where Cas is always pressed up against him in the night, something else is, too. Cas is nearly folded across him, sprawled completely soft, soft material of his pyjamas, soft skin, soft hair tickling Dean's face where his head lies in the hot crook of Dean's neck. His body is draped over Dean's, his arms spreadeagled, one leg wedged between Dean's thighs and the other across his hip. And that's where Dean can feel it, Cas' crazy erection, pressing hard and damp into his hip. This, although it makes Dean unable to sleep and fitful to grasp Cas and touch him until his eyes roll back, this, Dean can deal with. He can remember acutely well the first time he ever got a boner-on Castiel, in the night-, and he'd started crying and Castiel had said its okay, it's okay, it's okay, and hugged him regardless, and a month later, Cas had woken with one, too. 

Yeah, Dean could deal with a rogue erection. But that wasn't the problem, the problem was that Cas was grinding carefully on Dean in his sleep. His face was so innocent whilst dreaming, usually anyway, but now it was contorted with his moans and gasps. Dean's own cock, which had been sleepily half-hard at the contact, was now aching at the noises Cas was making. 

The boy writhed and rolled, hands clasping at Dean, hips moving sloppily but with purpose. With each motion, Castiel's cock rubbed at Dean's hip, his pyjama bottoms rucked down under his waist, leaving only one thin, sticky layer between them. 

That was when a breathy moan escaped Cas' lips, entangled with the word 'Dean'. He froze, grasping Castiel's shoulders as he ground his hips into Dean, slow but sure. Dean didn't know whether to laugh or cry; here was Castiel, not just having a wet dream, but having a wet dream about him. Here was Castiel, not just moaning, but moaning his name. It felt like a dream. Any number of Dean's dreams in the past few years might've fit this criteria, anyway. 

And again, 'Dean'. No mistaking it. Castiel was moaning for him, saying his name as he thrusted into Dean's body beneath him and his hot hand roamed over Dean's chest beneath his shirt. 

Dean couldn't help it then, but his hips bucked up in response. He felt guilty-Cas was fucking asleep, man-but Castiel responded instantly, earning Dean an unconscious but loud gasp, unlike anything he'd ever heard Cas say. Even in Dean's dreams or illicit daydreams or hasty wanks in the bathroom, he'd never imagined Castiel could make such noises. Unbelievably hot, conveying all at once Cas' unequivocal innocence and how much he wanted, wanted, wanted Dean. His voice tickled Dean's jaw as he moaned and Dean allowed himself to raise and roll his hips. Cas is beautiful, stuttering, and Dean can't help it, he never can, saying his name, 'Cas, Cas, oh fuck, Cas', hands at his waist and chest, Castiel relentlessly moving hot and sticky against him. 

That's when Dean noticed the lapse in rhythm. And then, gradually-it seemed like-almost as if-it had-

Stopped. 

Dean swallowed. Hard. He looked down, and Cas looked up, into the biggest, bluest eyes you ever saw. 

'Cas, man, I'm-'

'Dean' said Castiel, eyes wide. With something. Not quite his usual look of interest and innocence, but something else. Awe?

'Dean, you said my name'

Every building Dean had ever stepped foot in crumbled. Every inch of scrubland he'd ever walked across withered and died. Every person he'd ever breezed by fell to the ground. 

'Yeah, well. You said mine first' Dean grunted, not even trying to inject humour in because now Castiel was going to hit him or cry or leave or all three. Couldn't he feel Dean's cock, hard against his stomach, pressing into him?

'Oh' said Cas, contemplative. 'Did I?'

Dean swallowed. Again. 

But Dean realised neither boy had moved an inch. Cas was still half atop him, their bodies melded. 

And then Cas said, 'Can you say it again?' And all the glass in all the windows in the world shattered. 

'Say-say what?' Dean rasped, licking his lips. 

'My name' said Castiel, carefully but as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Dean smirked. His heart was hammering, Jesus, he was nervous. Cas made him nervous. 

So it was Cas that reached up and kissed Dean. Gently, ever so gently, like a dream. Just this almost-there was enough for Dean. He wouldn't move, wouldn't dare push or press Castiel further. So Cas grasped at Dean's sweaty shirt, pulling him underneath him, kissing him with such fever and fervency Dean couldn't believe Castiel could possess. He rolled his hips, hard and purposeful, his cock grinding against Dean's. Dean exhaled heavily into Castiel's mouth, like he'd been holding his breath since seven year old Castiel took his hand on the playground ten years ago, and had only just found it in himself to breathe out again. Dean scrambled for Castiel's hand to recreate that, lacing them together beside his head on the pillow as Castiel furiously, wildly kissed him. Dean kissed back, careful to only apply as much pressure and heat as Castiel did, but that wasn't much of a problem, considering the force with which Castiel had grabbed his neck and was shoving his hot tongue down Dean's throat. 

'Dean' he rasped, sounding so unholy, so impure, so fucking hot. Dean's hands travelled everywhere on Castiel he usually didn't dare touch, the hollows and swells that felt so intimate, it made him dizzy. His hands skimmed the rise and fall of Castiel's chest, the dip of his waist, the pleasant sear of his hot neck, the ending of his thigh where it disappeared. Dean's hand hovered, afraid to push Castiel. 

'Dean' Castiel hissed, a trail of spit meeting Dean's neck as he pressed his lips there, and then remarried their mouths. 'For God's sake, Dean, just-' Castiel reached down and grasped his hand, pulling it from where it had hesitated down onto the wet heat of Castiel's cock. That motion, so needy and so reckless, so unlike Castiel, sent white hot bullets ricocheting up Dean's spine, everything in his head screaming at him, but he couldn't decipher. 

The dizziness of how turned on he was relieved Dean of any protectiveness he felt, replaced by wildfires that burned up every moment between them in an instant, every plain of their melded bodies scorched to nothing. Castiel was raising his hips against Dean's hand, so he decided to intervene, pushing Cas off him so they faced each other. 

Castiel's breathing was everything, ragged and louder than anything Dean had every heard, but still the softest and most delicate thing. 

Dean trailed his fingers over the side of Castiel's jaw absently with one hand, as the other yanked away Cas' pyjama bottoms, and Castiel just watched him, some parts the wide-eyed trust and interest he usually regarded Dean with, most parts this new, wild, dark-eyed Castiel who silently willed Dean to hurry. He shifted closer, kissing Castiel in a dirty, sloppy way as his hand forced itself around Castiel's cock, the motion messy as he pumped his fist because his fingers shook slightly. Dean's stomach flipped continuously as Cas pressed his face against Dean's neck, short breathy moans spelt out on his hot skin. 

Dean steadied himself, one hand pressed against Castiel's shoulder, and focused on the other where he groped at Castiel, trying to apply some care and slow his frenzy to a careful pace, feeling Cas' heart flutter against his own chest, and hearing Cas' breath stutter where it touched his own. 

'Dean' Castiel panted, the word rolling like hot honey off his tongue as Dean pumped his hand, controlling his lust to exert some care. 

'Dean!' Castiel says again, like he means to tell Dean something, but keeps forgetting what he wants to say. Dean was so hot he was dizzy, one hand caressing Castiel's neck absently, but Cas was voracious, pressing closer and closer to Dean so there was no room for air to escape between them. He kissed Dean hard, with such wildness and vigour Dean couldn't believe it was Castiel. He opened his eyes just to check it was real, he wasn't dreaming, but even in his dreams, frequent as they were, he'd never imagined Castiel to be like this. Cas writhes beneath him, crumbling as Dean's fist thrusts heavily, fast and controlled, bringing heat up Castiel's cock and creating static in the air. But yet he doesn't look so weak and fragile and submissive as Dean has had him in daydreams. His eyes are dark and his voice is low and his grip is oh so strong dug into Dean's shoulder. 

Dean can't take it. No way. It's all too much, and although he's always orbited Castiel, to have the sun and moon and stars beneath his fingertips will destroy him. He grabs the back of Castiel's head, knitting fingers in his hair and losing for a second his control, kissing him luxuriously as though to savour the moment. With their lips touching and tongues burning hot against each other, Castiel comes, viscous and bitter, into Dean's hand. 

Dean is breathing almost as hard as Castiel. 

'I'm sorry, Dean' Castiel says gravely, and Dean's stomach flips. Of course, regret was inevitable. 

Instead, Castiel looks patiently down at Dean and apologises. 

'This was my fault and I let you touch me first' His intonations are as sincere and composed as he always is, but his voice is dark and husky, another person altogether. Dean's blood runs hotter than it should. 

'May I?' Castiel asks, gently brushing back Dean's hand softly and affectionately, whilst the other hand grasps at Dean's thigh. 

How Castiel works with such grace and such fury, such eloquence and such dirt, such beauty and such sin, Dean may never know. The palm of his hand rubs at Dean's length, already painfully hard, tugging down his sticky sweatpants and boxers far enough to release his cock. One of Cas' legs is slung over Dean's right knee, and the other is between Dean's legs, feeling Dean's hot pre come pooling onto the skin of his leg. 

Castiel jerks Dean off for a minute, but he's so wild with everything, his hands shake a little, and he paves the way for himself slowly, so Dean could stop him if he wanted to, kissing sharp jaw through soft chest planes through the dips of Dean's waist. His chin grazes Dean's body as he travels downward and everything inside Dean lurches. Oh God. Dean isn't sure he can even take the thought of this without coming, let alone how he will hold on once Castiel's lips touch his cock. 

'Dean-?'

'Jesus, Cas, just...' He tries to control his breathing, but it just comes out in an awfully pornographic groan. 

Castiel's hands spread out slick on Dean's hips, centre of each palm driven in with the point of Dean's sharp hip bones. He faltered then, falling back into a Castiel Dean actually recognised. 

Dean didn't disgrace him by speaking, but lifted one hand and helped Cas curl it around the base of his cock, touching ever so gently the back of Castiel's head, which Cas took as encouragement and dipped his head. 

Dean was somewhat of an aficionado compared to most teenage boys regarding oral sex, but nothing so erotic had ever happened to him as Castiel's sweet little lips neatly taking him in his mouth. He parted his lips, making a sloppy wet noise as breathed and then began sucking, curses falling all over the place from Dean's lips. Every 'fuck, Cas' Dean muttered under his breath made Castiel feel like he was doing ok, and so he danced his tongue over the head of Dean's cock, slathering it wet, a small globule of spit running down its length as Castiel's choked on him. Jesus. Dean's fingers stroked through Cas' hair delicately, but a shiver shot through him at Cas knelt over the bed choking on him. 

'That's my good boy, that's my good baby boy' Dean hummed in unison to Cas' motion. Cas moved back to breathe, lips barely touching but resting wet on the tip of Dean's cock, meeting Dean's eyes, and God, that made Dean feel hotter than any touch of a hand ever could. 

'You ok?' Dean says softly, the situation affecting his composure so it came out low and gruff. 

Castiel didn't reply, but bent his head as though in prayer, his lips moulding back around the head of Dean's cock. Dean gasped at the renewal of the contact, gripping the back of the neck of Castiel's shirt. The noises were obscene, Dean's uncontrolled whines and the slick wet suck of Castiel's mouth. Dean involuntarily rolled his hips, evoking a choke from Castiel as Dean's cock touched the back of his throat that made Dean sweat down his back and his head swim. 

'Cas, Jesus' Dean warned, his voice rising to a feverish pitch and Castiel's head rose and sunk below him, lips trailing wet up and down the surface of Dean's cock. Castiel's tongue slid across his bottom lip without removing his mouth, and the added hot damp sear of contact jerked the entirety of Dean's body to another level. 

And Dean came, sweat gluing his back to the mattress, foul down Castiel's chin and hot against his lips, and Dean felt almost bad for a fraction of a second. Until Castiel sat up, moved into the light, looking golden and glowing and glorious with Dean's come across his mouth, and then he laughed. He laughed. 

Dean rolled himself up from where just a second ago he'd been propped on his elbows, shifting himself towards Cas. He grasped a handful from the box of tissues beside the bed-default of being a teenage boy-and drew himself up to Cas, sat in an odd formation of cross-leggedness, their legs intertwined with each other. Dean lifted Castiel's face gently, wiping with acute precision until he was clean and looked almost pure again, pure if Dean's body wasn't still quivering from orgasm and shaking from proximity and touch. Touch that on any other day would feel normal between them, but just for now, felt intimate and sexual and so, so good. 

Dean brushed the hair that stuck down across Castiel's hot forehead back with the side of his hand, achingly slow. 

'You tired?' His said, voice soft enough to shake the walls of the house. 

Castiel nodded. 

Dean leant forward and kissed Cas again, this time without any rush of the moment or sexual desperation, this time every move apparent and anticipated. Soft and slow and sweet, their lips dragging together for an age and an eternity and a second. 

Dean drew back, smiling at Castiel sort of sadly, and Cas reflected it with a sweet smile. They lay down together, two hearts hammering into the mattress. Dean wanted to keep this forever and he wanted to forget all about it. He wanted to wake up tomorrow and it always be like this, and he wanted to wake up and this have never happened. This was all of Dean's dreaming; but he hoped it was just a dream. When Castiel's fingers slid down his forearm and found his hand, he locked his hand with the other boy's, and they lay like that, still and silent save the sounds of their heavy breaths. Cas pretended he didn't hear Dean crying, pretended he was asleep when Dean let go of his hand, pretended like it was all fine. If he shut his eyes, everything had been beautiful tonight.

'Goodnight, Dean' he murmured. 

'Night, Cas' Dean said back.


	8. 8

Castiel surfaces from dreaming gently, but wakes with a start when Dean isn't in the bed. Not exactly unusual, but the lack of another warm body beside him jolts him fully awake. 

The bed creaks as he rises, rubbing at his eyes so he draws stars before them. Dean's not in the bathroom, so Castiel pads downstairs, his weariness putting his balance off so he nudged the walls of the staircase as he descends. 

'Hey, Cas' Sam is leant against the wall that joins the kitchen and living room, watching lazily as his mum and brother get food ready. John is on the other side of the dining room glass, reading the newspaper. 

'Morning, sweetheart' Mary nods up at him, her glance off as though she'd forgotten all her boys are taller than her now. 

'Hi, Cas' says Dean, in his normal voice, no hint of anything else. Castiel reaches forward to take half a strawberry from the bowl Dean's preparing. 

'No! Wait just a minute, you greedy boys.' Mary scolds. 

When she turns back to her own project, Dean pushes a whole one inside Castiel's mouth, then returns to nonchalantly slicing. 

Nothing passes by Mary Winchester that easily, but she chooses to ignore it. 

'Sam, take these through...Cas honey, pour some juice, would you?'

Castiel obliges, setting out five cups in a neat row, all of them aligned. He twists one slightly so they all sit in a perfect line. Three orange juice, one Apple, one cranberry. He pours them all to the exact same level, and brings each one through into the dining room. 

'Morning, Castiel' John nods neatly over the top of his paper. 

'Morning' Castiel's rasps quickly , as though too many syllables and he will accidentally cry out 'your son wanked me off last night'. His face sears. God, John can probably tell. He'll probably hit him, tell him to leave, never come back. Oh God. Cas twitches. 

'Sit down, man, you're making me nervous' Dean makes him start, placing a hand on his shoulder, the warmth imprinting through his t-shirt and Dean sets down some fruit and yoghurt on the table. 

Castiel does as he's told as usual. He wishes Dean had been there when he's woken up. Even if neither of them had said anything about last night, alone Castiel can suss out Dean, tell if he was regretful or ashamed or didn't care or wanted to sweep Cas off into the sunset. Instead, Dean has a front to keep up with his family. He maintains a different persona; not exactly a facade or a lie, just is a different person when he's golden family boy Dean, than to when he's just Castiel's boy. 

'Want some pancakes?' He asks Cas, lifting one onto his plate before Castiel even answers. 

Just normal, regular, nothing out of place. Castiel had fucked up momenumentalky. Dean doesn't want him, Dean doesn't care. 

Only, the foot gently rubbing at his calf tells him otherwise. When Dean's foot shifts into his lap, nestles at his crotch, Castiel could cry. Partially because any contact from Dean is enough to send him spiralling, but partially because, although Dean hardly makes any significant eye contact with him or engages him in any conversation other than normal family Saturdat morning chat, this secret touch is like Dean seals a promise. Our secret is still a secret, it still exists as a reality, I will still protect our truth whilst it remains the truth. 

And then Dean crams several rashers or bacon into his mouth all at once, and Castiel's sentimentality fades a little. He wrinkles his nose in disdain, and Mary snorts at him. 

'Yeah, Dean, take it easy, hun' she jokes. 

'Mmhhhm!' Dean whines, choking down his mouthful. 

'You boys up to anything today?' John asks. Castiel starts, still sure that John will call him out for kissing Dean on the porch of the kid's home, for kissing Dean last night. He ignores the burn in his chest that, Jesus, there's more than one occasion to even choose from. 

Dean shrugs, swigging some of his apple juice. 

'Cas?'

Castiel shrugs. 'I don't mind, Dean.'

'Well, I'm going to the store. You boys can come if you fancy a trip to town'

'The store?!' Castiel whoops excitedly. 

'Dad, come on' Dean groans, but good naturedly. Somewhat. 

John smirks down the table at his oldest son. 

'Might be fun'

'At least one of us will enjoy it' Dean says, with a grand roll of his eyes. 

Castiel smiles, feeling excited. The store is this huge fleet of warehouses, that began as a hardware store but evolved into some IKEA type every-store, full of rows of vibrant paints, bedroom showrooms with squashy mattresses, outdoor swings secured to indoor ceilings. Dean long since got over playing hide and seek and pretend house in there, but Castiel only discovered it in his later life and is still utterly enthralled by its wide white spaces stacked with cheap, coloured clutter. 

'Can we go after breakfast?' He asked through a mouthful of pancake, unsure why everyone laughed at that. 

Castiel held his breath when he and Dean retreated upstairs to dress quickly-and shower, Jesus, he wasn't even properly clean from last night, and that felt awfully wild. But Dean didn't say much in the way of definition or determination; just threw Cas a jumper and squeezed his upper arm. He might do that on any given day, but he wouldn't stop and breathe hot air across Castiel's ear. 

'Dean' Cas whispered back. 

Dean smirked knowingly.

'S'my boy' he murmured, words like honey and heat and sticky summer evenings. 

Dean leans away, crossing the room with his usual arrogant stride, about to go downstairs when Cas says '-Dean!'

Dean turns, grinning wickedly. 'Cas!' He echoes. 

'It's cold. Take a jacket'

Dean's grin falls into a different kind of smile, huge and toothy and wide, like little-kid Dean. 

'You too, kid' He laughs a brief breath of air, shaking his head. 'You really are something'

Castiel doesn't really understand what Dean means by that, but never mind. 

He sits on his knees in the backseat, watching the colours race by like a puppy or a toddler. John seems to be in a hell of a good mood, because he lets Dean pick the music. Dean picks Zeppelin, of course, IV. He's a total Led Zeppelin purist, even though Cas himself prefers Physical Graffiti. Dean always rolls his eyes at this and tries to explain the emotional depth and musical gravitas of IV, but Cas hardly cares, just likes listening to Dean ramble on (no pun intended) about something he loves, eyes wide and sparkling. 

Some of Cas' nicest memories are just him and Dean slicing through sheets of sky in the Impala, singing the words to Houses of The Holy at the top of their voices. Dean's leant against the window right now, singing to a song about California and girls with flowers in their hair and jet planes, voice smooth but equally warbling. 

'I gotta get some paint stripper, find some odd bits for the car...fancy helping me?' John said with a bit of a laugh, knowing full well how entranced Castiel was by the stupid store. 

He rounded sharply into the car park, and the boys tripped from the car into the building. 

'You come find me when you get bored' John nodded. He eyed Castiel, who was picking up potted plants in the entrance of the store. 'Know what, I'll come find you'

Dean nodded as his father sloped off, yawning. 'Can't believe we're actually doing something on a Saturday morning'

'Shh, Dean, don't be miserable. Dean, they have cuddly toys here!' He grasped Dean's hand and pulled him along the aisles to the rows of fluffy animals, stacked up to the huge ceilings so you had to get a ladder to reach the pink bunnies on the top. 

'No, Cas' Dean said gruffly. 

'Look at the shark!' Castiel cried, battering Dean with it. 

Dean grinned. 'Jesus, Cas, I see it, calm down' he rolled his eyes, but obligingly picked up a green dinosaur and nudged Cas with it. 

'Did you ever make your teddies kiss when you were a kid?'

Dean scoffed. 'Isn't that kind of gay?'

'Aren't you?' Cas retorted, instantly regretting it when Dean paled, but then tilted his head back and laughed so loud the walls shook. 

'Jesus, Cas!' His face had gone red. 

'Are you embarrassed, Dean?' Asked Castiel, incredulous. 

'No' he said gruffly, indicative of the otherwise. 

'Can we go play house?' Castiel asked, carefully setting down his cuddly toy whilst Dean nonchalantly abandoned his. 

'Oh my god, we used to always' Dean laughed, not even trying to disguise the sloppy reminiscence in his voice. 

Cas took his hand and dragged him up the aluminium stairs, knotted wire floors so you could see right down below. 

'Kitchens first?'

Dean nodded, and they crossed the wide expanse of the upstairs to the kitchen showroom area. Would Cas usually keep hold of his hand like this? Or would he drop it?

'I like this one' Dean said, enjoying the way the cupboards popped if he jarred them with his arm. 

'No, Dean, it's all shiny. You'd get your fingerprints all over the place'

Dean smirked, letting Cas pull him around the scenes. They used to come here when Sam was little, and Castiel used to be wistful for a real home then, just a kid surfacing on the outside looking into the family kinda life like the Winchesters had. He hoped Dean didn't remember how he used to talk about them having a little house together, picket fence and pets and the like, and whenever they came here they'd pick their favourite features to build up this little house. 

(Dean did remember). 

'This one's nice' Cas said. 

'How come you want everything to be blue all the time ' Dean asked mostly rhetorically, as Castiel opened all the little cupboards in the little blue showroom. 

'I like blue, Dean'

Dean liked blue, too. Skies, oceans, a pair of wide eyes looking up at him. 

'I like all the glass stuff' Dean noted, liking the fancier showrooms that cost a bomb. 

'So you can look at yourself' Cas retorted, pulling Dean's hand back so he didn't leave fingerprint smudges. 'Can we just have the blue one?'

Dean smiled gratuitously. 'Of course we can'

'Bedroom?' Cas suggests. 

Dean smirks at him, and he floods red. 

'I just-I meant...I-'

Dean laughs that raucous deep laugh of the confident man, touches the back of Castiel's neck in some hopeless attempt at casual just-friendliness. 

'Bunk beds!' Cas cries as soon as they find the section. 

'Bunk beds, huh?' Dean laughs. 'Wouldn't you miss me?' He laughs, voice instantly changing from amused to dark and fuck, fuck, Castiel cannot think about anything except Dean's hand skimming his waist and his fingertips dragging the top of his thigh. 

'Dean' He says, a request more than a plea. Dean removes his hand and walks away nonchalantly, doing his usual purposeful stride of a kid who hasn't got anything on his back, the well loved, well rounded boy who kisses girls. Dean is a good liar without even opening his mouth. 

Only this annoys Castiel, the way Dean can do what he likes and get away with it, the way he can touch Cas and he'll melt beneath his fingers. 

Cas may not hold the presence Dean does, but he sure can do impulsive. 

He comes behind Dean, hand lingering on the back of his thigh. 

'Cas' Dean says, voice controlled but Castiel knows better. 

Castiel drags his hand down Dean's leg, leaving white hot sparks. 

Dean is dying. Dean is dead. No, no, Jesus Christ. 

'Cas, you better quit that'

Castiel leans in, moving their bodies closer, his mouth ghosting on Dean's neck. 

'Or what?'

Dean stiffens. His body is stone. Castiel is a carver. His body is magma. Castiel is the ocean trying to soothe him. His body is falling, falling apart, and Cas is picking him apart with ease. 

'Don't you dare' Dean says, voice so low Cas can barely hear him. 

Castiel's hand surfaces beneath the hem of Dean's shirt, feeling the smooth alive heat of Dean's stomach beneath the side of his roaming hand. 

'Cas, man, you're killing me' Dean whispers, voice so breathy and where the hell was this confident, wild Castiel all the years Dean lay in the bed beside him itching for a kiss. 

'That's the idea' he says back, quiet but not a mumble, strong, confident, Cas. 

Jesus, they're in public. Public. People could see, holy fuck, and that doesn't stop Dean wanting to yank Castiel by the collar and pull him onto one of the display beds and-

'Boys?'

Never in their lives have either boy moved so fast. Cas and Dean spring apart with huge force, spinning to face John. 

'Sir!' Dean gasps, face an absolute picture and Castiel would burst out laughing if his heart wasn't hammering. 

'Need you to help me cart some stuff around. If you boys don't piss me off too bad, maybe we could grab a bite?'

Dean fucking beams, because it is so completely unlike John to offer a fucking cake stop or whatever. Castiel is trying to breathe, but it's evident John missed the fact that his son was being felt up by another boy in public. Jesus. Cas swallows. 

'Yeah, sounds good, Dad'

'Sounds good' says Castiel. 

'We'll do hide and seek later, Cas' says Dean. John laughs, but they both know there's no joking. 

As they walk down the stairs, Dean skims ahead past Castiel, but not before he grasps a handful of the front of Cas's jeans and squeezes. In public. Wouldn't be the first time Cas has came in public because of Dean, but he manages to just stop himself this time.

**Author's Note:**

> it is not finished yet oh my god stop asking


End file.
